


Pride's Folly

by antebellum13



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: AU, But I don't care, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, It goes back to the future too, Lots of fluffiness, Romance, Slow Burn, Solavellan, Time Travel, Yes I played Trespasser, but this is still mostly an adventure story, even more fluffiness, rated mature but not explicit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-23
Updated: 2016-10-04
Packaged: 2018-07-26 06:14:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 31,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7563436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antebellum13/pseuds/antebellum13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lavellan is a Tevinter slave, purchased by Alexius as a sacrifice for his time magic experimentations. When his experiment goes horribly wrong (or is it horribly right?) she arrives in Arlathan mere months before the weaving of the Veil is supposed to occur. While trying to return her to her own time, Solas accidentally transfers ownership of his orb to her, disrupting all his carefully laid plans. </p>
<p>How will "Fen'Harel" deal with this twist of fate? What impacts on the future could it have? Find out in the epic adventure tale (and an irresistible romance we all can't live without) that will follow Solas and Lavellan - literally - through the ages.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Sacrifice

“Bind the slave, Dorian,” booms a powerful voice above her. She trembles on the floor, blind from a dark cloth tied around her eyes. Hands pull her to her feet, surprisingly gentle, but commandeering all the same. It was nothing new or shocking in Tevinter, after all, to use one’s property for whatever one pleases. She is sure she will likely be brutally raped, or used in some depraved blood magic ritual. Such rumors about Tevinter magisters were abound in Thedas.

The hands push her into a walk, and she feels herself being led somewhere. The hands pull her to a stop by her shoulders and turn her around.

“Sit, and lay back on the table,” a quiet and kind voice says in her ear. She complies, and the man lashes her wrists and ankles to the table. Her heart pounds so hard at this point, she feels certain it will leap from her chest at any moment.

“Alexius, is this truly necessary?” the man’s voice who had spoken to her a moment ago rings out above her.

“Dorian, to achieve greatness, one must be willing to make sacrifices,” the powerful voice mocks, this _Alexius_. A sacrifice then. Perhaps better than rape, she thinks to herself, but no better in the end. Her body was still to serve a purpose to their madness.

“Prepare the body,” Alexius barks after a moment of silence. Another hesitation stretches before them. “Then stand aside if you cannot stomach it.”

Feet shuffle away and sure, pounding steps move toward her. The sound of steel being drawn from its sheath sets her blood boiling and she bucks against the restraints. A wash of magic paralyzes her, leaving her helpless to what comes next.

Fire across her stomach, her wrists, her neck, her cheeks, as lines are drawn with the dagger. She feels her life easing away through the wounds, trickling down her flesh, pooling beneath her frozen body. The pain rises in great waves, but she cannot make a sound. She is nothing but a tool, an _object_.

“Bring forth the amulet,” Alexius whispers, his voice pregnant with excited energy. A clinking sound, more shuffling, and then a wash of coldness over her body. A green light seeps through her blindfold and she feels a tug behind her navel as her consciousness begins to ebb. The cuts are deep; _too_ deep, and in the throes of death, an almighty _yank_ from within her core covers the world as she knows it in pitch-blackness. She succumbs to the darkness and floats away.

*****

She is aware of a new light, white and warm behind the blindfold. The warmth almost makes her forget the pain. She tries to move, but the paralytic spell doesn't seem to have been lifted yet. A shout echoes around her as the sound of running feet assaults her ears.

“Ar tel nuvena dru,” a voice over her head implores. She feels herself fading again, but the blindfold is being removed. Her eyes, frozen open, see the faint outline of a dark-haired, pale-faced person floating above her.

Blue-tinged white light flares around her and she feels the spell lift. Her hands squeeze shut, her back arches, her body clenches, her mouth opens in a horrifying scream that erupts into the bright white surroundings. More flashes of light come, the voice is murmuring Elvhen words she can't recall, her flesh is itchy and hot. But she has lost far too much blood. Once again, her world falls to blackness.

*****

She awakens once again. Her body feels at peace, and she is laying against something luxuriously soft, more comfortable than anything else she has ever known in her life. She can see a bright whiteness again behind her closed lids and she risks cracking them open for a peek.

An open wall faces her. Perhaps two feet of wall at the top and bottom, with naught but empty space in between, punctuated every few meters by slim pillars rising from the bottom to the top. Beyond that appears to be a large garden, green and rife with life. She looks down to see she is in a circular bed fit for a queen.

_What is this place?_ she wonders to herself. Was this death? Or was it a new, cruel trick of the magister’s? Trepidation fills her and she looks around the room for clues. The rest of the room is round, matching the bed in which she resides for the moment. There is no other furnishing in the room, no decoration. An expanse of pure white wall behind her is broken only by an open frame to her right, leading to parts unknown. She wonders if she should go through it, or just leap out of the open wall and into the garden.

Before she can decide, a man wearing robes of white enters, carrying a small silver tray of food. His long dark hair is pulled into thick braids down his back, his steel blue eyes are a stark spark of color in the white room.

“Na thena,” he says, looking at her. She knows enough of the old language to know what he means, though her mind struggles to remember the lessons.

She nods at the man. His eyes are kind, different from the ones in Tevinter, the ones who took her away. She looks down at her body, expecting to see bandages, at the very least, scars. But her arms and wrists are whole and healthy, and though her body is mostly covered in a clean, white linen gown, she does not feel pain in her belly. There are no marks; no evidence of the trauma she experienced at the hands of the magister.

“Na esha min,” the man says softly, setting the tray down on the bed before her. It holds simple breads and a dish of red fruit spread. A small implement lies next to the dish. Can she use it to defend herself? She looks at the man again, still afraid.

Something in his eyes. Sympathy, perhaps? Or just pity? Her instinct says he won't attack. At least not yet, not _here_. But she will not let her guard down completely.

“Who are you?” she finally manages. His head quirks to the side and he regards her for a moment.

“You speak the tongue of the Shem’len,” he says, looking at her with rapt attention, mild confusion muddying his features.

“It is the Common Tongue,” she replies, searching his face.

“Was your mother a Shem?” he inquires.

“ _Excuse_ me?” She is angry now. How dare he imply she is anything like the Shems. Her eyes narrow and flash in his direction.

“It's just that…you do not look completely Elvhen. You have some features,” he says, reaching out and grazing her ears with his fingertips, “but you are mostly different.”

“My parents were elves,” she snaps shortly, crossing her arms in front of her. “And in any case, you haven't answered my question. Who _are_ you?”

He is silent for a moment, tilting his head in contemplation.

“You may call me Solas.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Ar tel nuvena dru_ \- I do not desire sacrifice.  
>  _Na thena_ \- You are awake.  
>  _Na esha min_ \- You are safe here. 
> 
> I am using a combination of [several](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3719848) [dictionaries](http://archiveofourown.org/works/359253) and [lexicons](http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Elven_language) to create my rendition of the Elvhen language. 
> 
> I love Feynite's work so much that I wanted to create my own rendition. The only element that is the same is the time traveling. Don't worry, I'm no plagiarizer. 
> 
> This is a nice little preview of what is to come. Lavellan has not yet been asked to spy on the conclave. She has not met the Solas of her time. She is not marked. She is not the Inquisitor. Whether those events ever come to pass, we shall have to wait and see.


	2. Ignorance

“Please, da’len, eat. You must replenish your strength. You have suffered a travesty on my behalf,” Solas urges, the lyrical lilt of his accent catching in her ears. He pushes the tray toward her but she does not touch it.

Her brow furrows. “ _Your_ behalf? You are working with Alexius?”

Solas regards her for a stretch of silence. “I do not know of this Alexius. Is he the one who tried to sacrifice you to me?”

“I…” Her mouth gapes open, unsure of the proper words. “He was using me for a spell. Blood magic.”

He stares at her, the only sounds coming from the twittering of birds in the garden.

“Did he invoke Fen’harel?” Solas asks quietly. She nearly jumps out of her skin.

“Fen’harel? How would _he_ know of the Dread Wolf? He is a Tevinter magister. He cares not for the well-being nor the culture of any elf.” Her eyes swim with confusion, and something else. Fear, perhaps?

“It is the name they use to mock me, my enemies. I thought perhaps if he invoked the name, it might have sent you to me. The Tevinter Imperium is a great many leagues away. How did you come to be here?”

She is barely listening. _This_ could not be Fen’harel. Surely it was only a joke. Was he not afraid of the stories, to so casually mention the name in such an unflinching manner?

“Why do they call you Fen’harel?” she whispers, and she searches his face for signs of the trickster. But she sees only mild befuddlement, and kindness.

“It is meant as a mockery. My symbol is a wolf, and so they use ‘Dread Wolf’ to slight me.”

“Do you turn into a wolf and wreak havoc upon your people?”

“I…must admit, I am not the most adept at shape-shifting. My talents lie elsewhere.” A light blush spreads across his cheeks to the tips of his ears as he shifts uncomfortably. “But no. To answer your question, I do my utmost to _prevent_ havoc.”

“All the stories I heard growing up warned us of Fen’harel, the wolf who tricked the gods and locked them away.”

Mild befuddlement turns to moderate bewilderment across his face and he jolts forward.

“How do you know of my plans? Why do you speak as if they have already occurred?” His eyes are wide, there is panic blossoming across his features. He grabs her shoulders roughly. “Who sent you here? You must tell me what you know!”

She gasps and pulls away from Solas, snatching the silver instrument from the tray. She scoots back off the bed and stands, brandishing the tool and gazing at Solas in astonishment.

“Your— _plans_? But—Fen’harel did this ages ago. This isn't funny in the remotest sense! In fact, it's a huge insult to Dalish culture!” She breathes heavily, her starved lungs reaching for oxygen her body’s low blood supply cannot replenish fast enough. She feels dizzy and sways on the spot.

Solas jumps up from his spot on the white bed. He looks at her in alarm as the darkness claims her consciousness and she crumples to the ground, her head thudding loudly against the white tiles as the clink of the small utensil goes skittering across the floor.

*****  
  
The world is hazy and white. There are sounds, but they seem far away, as though she is standing deep within a cave and someone is shouting from its mouth. She opens her eyes but clamps them shut again as everything spins, flashes of green alternating with white.

“Ir ladaral’ma,” a soothing voice whispers in her ear. The sound fractures and repeats, overlaps, until she feels so dizzy and nauseous, she finally turns her head and vomits. The world quiets and darkens as she passes out again.

*****

When she awakens – _again_ – it is nightfall. The room is bathed in blue light from the moon outside. The birds are asleep and the insects chirrup and sing their entrancing cacophony.

She climbs from the bed, stilling for a moment to allow the small wave of vertigo to pass. Then she treads carefully to the open wall and reaches out. But it is like placing two equal poles of a magnet together. No matter how hard she pushes, an unseen force diverts her hand back towards herself. She reaches for her magic, but it is curiously absent. Perhaps an effect of the strange ward.

She can taste the night air, hear the cicadas, feel the breeze across her face, and yet she is unable to escape via the open wall.

Turning, she eyes the archway, noting the darkness hiding beyond in the night. She glances around warily before creeping across the room. She does not meet the same invisible force here, and so she sneaks through the doorway, her bare feet silent on the tiles below her, every nerve and sense fraught with alertness.

She is in a long, unbroken passage. She has no choice but to head toward the end of it, as there are no other doors or windows. She feels like a sheep being herded to its owner’s destination. She stops at the end, not daring to walk out into the open.

A soft orange glow lights up the room, casting shadows across her face and over her white gown. Inching forward, she peeks around the corner. Empty.

She steps out into the chamber. It is another round room, though nearly twice the diameter of the bedroom she just vacated. It seems to serve as a multipurpose area, with shelves of books, a table with stacks of papers and more books, and a chair serving as a small library or office, and the other side resembling more of a kitchen, with a stone hearth, piles of colorful fruits and vegetables, a wedge of cheese, a clay pitcher, and a large pot sitting in the fireplace. The embers are low, but will likely burn through the night.

Small globes of light dot the room at varying heights. They are self-contained and magical in nature. She has never seen such a thing, and she feels her feet betray her trepidation as they lead her across the room to the nearest one for closer examination. As she reaches out to touch it, she hears a sound behind her. She jerks her hand away and whips around in fright. It is Solas, standing near an open doorway.

“I felt the wards move,” he admits, his arms at his sides as he leans against the door frame.

She crosses her arms stubbornly across her chest and fixes him with a stern glare.

“Am I your prisoner, _Fen’harel_?” she hisses. He looks at her, his expression unreadable.

He sighs. “No. Of course not. I…had only hoped you might stay long enough to answer some questions.”

“ _Questions_?” she sneers. “For one who is called _Dread Wolf_ , who wears the name like a badge of _pride_ , who does not even protest the significance of such a thing? Have you completely renounced the Dalish? Or are you just a city elf unaware of his own ignorance?”

“Ir abelas, da’len, but I do not know what the Dalish is. Is it your religion, where you are from?”

She looks at him in shock. How can he not know about the Dalish? Does he live under a rock? Or is this place so secluded?

“They are my people. Elves. We wander from place to place. There is not much left that the Shem’lens have not claimed, and they are not willing to relinquish much,” she explains, searching his face for signs of recognition at her words as her eyes narrow in suspicion.

“They must be very remote if I have not heard of them. Do you come from across the ocean? I believe that is where most of the Shems come from as well. I was unaware of any Elvhen over there.”

She simply stares at him, mouth agape.

“Across the…I am from the Free Marches. I was taken to the Tevinter Imperium as a slave after my clan ran into a group of Vints. In exchange for their lives, I was ‘sold’ into slavery.” She spits the word _sold_ out bitterly. Her clan had received nothing for her, and that was only after several members had already been slaughtered. She would have preferred death to slavery, but in the end, she did not wish to see the others suffer.

She could see pity well up in his eyes. “So people from the Tevinter Imperium took you from your homeland and forced you into slavery? Are there more elves being forced into servitude like this?” He is so eager in his thirst for knowledge. He looks genuinely interested in the answer.

Something wasn't right. Either he had never spoken to another being in his life, or something sinister was going on. It just wasn't possible for him to not know about slavery in the Imperium, or even about the Dalish. Why was he feigning such blasphemous ignorance? Did he take her for a simpleton?

“Slavery has been going on in the Imperium since before the fall of Arlathan. Everyone knows that. Where are we that you do not know this?” Her voice is quiet in the shadows of the room. Solas is frozen, unmoving in the doorway.

“The _fall_...of Arlathan?” he whispers, his eyes searching hers in the flickering light of the orbs.

She glances around the room again, a growing suspicion gnawing somewhere at the edges of her awareness.

“ _Solas_ ,” she emphasizes. “ _Where are we_?” His face is blank and pale, even under the glow of the orbs.

“ _Arlathan_ ,” he breathes.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Ir ladaral'ma_ \- I am healing you.
> 
> I am using a combination of [several](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3719848) [dictionaries](http://archiveofourown.org/works/359253) and [lexicons](http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Elven_language) to create my rendition of the Elvhen language. 
> 
> As you might have figured out, Lavellan has obviously been thrown back into the distant past. Remember, this is a Lavellan who has never met the Solas of her own timeline.


	3. The Fall of Arlathan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you'd like to read the first part of Chapter One (The Sacrifice) from Dorian's POV, you can find it [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7983280).

Her heart is in her throat. A buzzing sensation fills her mind and she can't think. How could this be Arlathan?

“Please,” Solas murmurs, interrupting her thoughts. “Please, tell me what happened. How did Arlathan fall?”

There is such a profound sadness in his eyes, she is not sure what to say. If this truly was Arlathan, then the experiment she had been used for had sent her far back in time. The truth was a harsh reality.

“After the gods were locked away, the elves were left defenseless against the Tevinter Imperium. They destroyed the city. Enslaved or murdered the survivors. We began aging at a similar rate to the Shems. And now…we are scattered across Thedas in small, disconnected pockets called clans. Much of our culture has been lost or forgotten.”

He steps forward, eyes searching her face. His hand reaches out and traces a line on her cheek.

“Who sent you?”

Her brow wrinkles as she stares back. “I'm sorry?”

“Which one sent you? This is a joke, yes? A prank? Although they did not have to go so far with you. You were nearly dead when you first arrived. It was all I could do to keep you alive. Although I doubt any of them care so much about their _servants_.” He is bitter and scathing, eyes flashing, cheeks reddening in anger.

She steps back, suddenly frightened. “What? I—I told you exactly what happened! Why would I joke about that?”

“You come from a land I have never heard of. You look like an elf but you do not at the same time. You wear marks the likes of which I have never seen. You claim to be a slave of the Tevinter Imperium, when I know full well they have barely made contact with us yet. You speak of a distant future in which the world as we know it is turned on its head! Clearly it is an elaborate hoax! Clearly one of my brethren has sent you to gain my trust so they may learn of my secrets!” His voice rises to a shout and she is cowering before him on the floor, terrified he may strike out at any moment.

To her horror, a sob escapes her throat and the floodgates open. She weeps, covering her face with her hands.

“Please! I—I am no spy! I speak the truth to you!”

“You have your life,” Solas says calmly, standing upright and gazing off into the distance above her head. “Please get out. Tell whoever sent you their ploy failed.”

She stares up at him in shock, tear tracks down her stricken face. “But—”

“GET. OUT!”

She scrambles to her feet and flies out the open door into the night. She runs blindly, her bare feet hardly feeling the rough terrain below them as she runs herself to exhaustion. When she stops, the building she had been in is nowhere in sight. She must be at least a league or so away by now. It is almost completely black, except for the light of the stars over her head. They provide just enough light to keep her from running into trees.

Nothing is familiar. This forest—or _jungle_ , to be more accurate—is nothing like any of the forests her clan had ever traveled through. It is hot, even in such darkness, and her white gown clings to her sweat-drenched skin. She is breathing hard, her heart is pounding in her ears.

And she is utterly lost.

As she regains her breath and her chest ceases its heaving, she hears the sounds of the jungle she could not hear while running. Leafs rustle all around her. Vines shift and slither. Twigs snap in the distance. A crunch sounds directly behind her.

She flings herself around, her eyes alight with terror. A woman stands before her, tall, beautiful, utterly Elvhen.

“Na laim, haolin?” the woman sneers, danger glinting behind her eyes.

She backs up and trips over an outstretched root. She lands hard but scuttles backward anyway, putting distance between herself and the woman.

“Na min el’u’esaya o ara’lan?” The woman steps forward and looms over her threateningly.

“I—I don't—I don't know,” she sputters. The woman draws a dagger from its sheath, the metal _snick_ ing as it pulls free. The woman reaches down and pulls her up by the hair.

She shrieks and flails, attempting to break free.

“Ahnsul na min? Dirthera’ma!”

Her feet hang above the ground. The pain in her scalp is tremendous and pulls at her face. She claws at the woman’s hands to no avail.

“Na ha’lam.” The woman presses the blade against her throat. She feels a sharp sting at the notch of her throat.

A flash of white light and she is crumpled on the ground, several feet away from the woman.

“As’an ghest darena thena i’ve’an’sou sul’ara,” the woman says quietly.

“Din,” a voice speaks from the darkness. The woman's eyes flash as Solas steps forward into view.

“Mesilde dharlin, ema’na laimem na’rahn’girem?” the woman leers, stepping away from where she lies cowering on the ground. 

“Ar ver’asa, vasa’na.” He glares at the woman, standing still as a statue.

The woman juts her chin up and jeers at Solas.

“Min tel’ha’lam, Fen’harel.” And she stalks off into the black jungle.

Solas turns his attention to her and contemplates her for a moment as she pulls herself to her feet.

“Are you well?”

“I will survive,” she says, though she feels irritated at the inability to understand what had just transgressed.

A sensation of warmth suddenly blossoms at her neck and she reaches up to find her skin is once again whole and unblemished.

“Thank you,” she says softly, and she turns away to leave.

Solas steps forward, intercepting her path.

“Wait.”

She hesitates, not meeting his eyes.

“Ir abelas, da’len. I do not know what came over me. I—I am afraid I have become paranoid as of late. Things have happened recently that have me looking over my shoulder at all times. You did not deserve to get caught in the crossfire. My behavior was unacceptable. Please. Return home with me. You will be safe there.”

“Is it safety if _you_ are there?” she retorts, but there is no true anger behind the words. She is tired.

“I deserve that,” he affirms with a swift nod. “I give you my word, no harm will come to you in my presence.”

Exhausted, she simply nods in agreement. Her eyes find the jungle floor.

“It is a long way back. I can carry you,” Solas offers, putting his hand out.

She looks up sharply. “I can walk,” she contends. He tilts his head in acknowledgment.

“Ma nuven’in.”

They walk back in silence. It is over an hour of walking, but they eventually reach the small dwelling. Solas proffers his arm toward the doorway leading off to the bedroom she had occupied before.

“I…I would not take your only bed from you,” she admits, a blush creeping up her neck.

“Please, da’len. You are my guest. I would have it no other way.”

Sensing unwavering stubbornness within him, she decides against arguing and tilts her head in thanks before padding down the hall to the bedroom. She climbs beneath the covers and falls asleep almost instantly, thoroughly exhausted.

*****

The morning comes quickly, considering half of it was spent out in the jungle, nearly getting herself killed by some crazy elf.

She climbs out of bed and looks down at herself in disgust. The bottom edge of her white gown is filthy and covered in dirt and grime, and her feet are almost black with jungle floor debris. She looks back at the bed and notices dirt smudges all over the beautiful white fabric.

She reaches for her magic again in the hopes of blowing the grunge off the fabric with a soft wind spell. Unlike before, when she could not reach it at all, this time it comes rushing into her like a hurricane. It roars through her body and promptly sets the bed on fire.

She shrieks in terror, dropping her connection to her magic in panic. She furiously reaches for it again, this time trying for a spell that will put the flame out.

Solas sprints into the room just as she manages to stop the waterfall she had accidentally conjured. The room smells of singed cloth, the bed is blackened and burnt, the floor is flooded. Everything is drenched, including herself, and she looks at Solas, her mouth agape in shock.

“I…thought my apology last night was enough, but it appears I was mistaken,” utters Solas breathlessly as he takes in the damage. She turns a deep shade of crimson.

“I did not intend for this to happen,” she pleads. “I—the magic was…a stronger brand than I have ever produced before.”

He regards her for a moment before sweeping his hand across the room. She watches in awe as the water disappears and the sheets turn back to white before her eyes.

“You are rushing in like an angered druffalo. Magic requires nothing but a whim. It is a gentle stream you wade into, not a great river to be dammed.”

“That is how Keeper Deshanna taught me to do it. It has always produced admirable effects before. I don't understand what's different this time.” She looks distraught, uncertain.

“Perhaps magic is different where you are from?” Solas suggests thoughtfully. “Although I cannot imagine how it could be. Magic is a force to be reckoned with. It would take a lot to dampen it. If you truly _are_ from a distant future…but I don't see how... Even if I succeed, it should have no effect…” He trails off, a look of consternation over his face.

“How can this be Arlathan? I thought it was a huge, sprawling city?” she inquires, interrupting his thoughts. His gaze returns to her.

“This is Arlathan Forest. We are in a secluded dwelling of mine at the southern fringe. Arlathan City lies due north, at the heart of the forest. If you had continued the direction you were running last evening, you would have reached it by midday today.”

Comprehension dawns as she tries to recall the maps she had studied in her youth. If this is Arlathan Forest, that meant the Free Marches lay far to the south, and the Tevinter Imperium was due west, many leagues away.

“Do you know how to send me back?” she whispers, daring to hope.

His eyes fill with sorrow. “Ir abelas. If I knew such magic, I would have already sent you home.”

“So I'm stuck here forever?” she mourns as her eyes begin to fill with tears.

“I am afraid I do not know the nature of such spells. I could not say for sure. Perhaps we will find an answer.”

“ _We_?” She looks up and meets his stare. His expression is one of genuine concern.

“I would not leave you to an unfamiliar world. If we cannot find an answer, I can at least help you acclimate to this hour of Thedas.”

“Are you…” She trails off, uncertain of how to phrase it. “Are you truly Fen'harel? _The_ Fen'harel?”

“I am the only Fen'harel in this time…at least, there have been none before me. As for after, I cannot say. Perhaps someone in the intervening years took up the mantle?”

“Earlier, you acted like you knew what I spoke of. About…locking away the gods.” She gasps as Solas lunges forward, grabbing her shoulders again, though not as roughly as before.

“You do not know me. But I ask that you speak of that future to no one. It is the one thing that has me convinced you speak the truth. None but my closest friends know of my plans, and they would sooner die than betray me. _Please_. I ask for your word.”

She is still beneath his fingers as she searches the depths of his eyes. Finally, she nods.

“I owe you my life several times over. The least I can offer in return is my silence.”

“I do not wish for you to feel indebted to me,” he urges, squeezing her shoulders slightly.

She shakes her head. “No, that's not it. I want to return the favor of my own accord.”

He is silent for a moment as he thinks over her words. Finally, seemingly satisfied, he releases her shoulders and steps back. Turning toward the hallway, he looks back over his shoulder.

“Would you like breakfast?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Na laim, haolin?_ \- Are you lost, little lamb?  
>  _Na min el’u’esaya o ara’lan?_ \- Are you here to secret-see (spy) on me?  
>  _Ahnsul na min? Dirthera’ma!_ \- Why are you here? Tell me!  
>  _Na ha’lam_ \- You will die.  
>  _As’an ghest darena thena i've'an'sou sul’ara_ \- The creature dares to use Fade-power (magic) against me.  
>  _Din_ \- No.  
>  _Mesilde dharlin, ema’na laimem na’rahn’girem?_ \- Pathetic little dog, have you lost your property?  
>  _Ar ver’asa, vasa’na_ \- I will take her, you will go.  
>  _Min tel’ha’lam, Fen’harel_ \- This is not over, Dread Wolf.  
>  _Ma nuven'in_ \- As you wish. 
> 
> I am using a combination of [several](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3719848) [dictionaries](http://archiveofourown.org/works/359253) and [lexicons](http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Elven_language) to create my rendition of the Elvhen language.
> 
> Thank you all for your continued support! I really love writing this so much! I can't wait for you all to see what's in store for our favorite couple!
> 
> I will be posting the second half of Chapter One (The Sacrifice) from Solas' POV to my "Extras" series soon!
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr (same handle) as well. I don't post a lot but my inbox is always open if you'd like to chat!


	4. The Orb

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so grateful for all the comments and kudos! Keep 'em coming, they're the lifeblood of my motivation!
> 
> If you would like to read the second half of Chapter One - The Sacrifice in Solas' POV, head over [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7983376) and check it out!

Breakfast ends up being a delicious chunk of cheese, a few slivers of dried fruit, and a magically warmed drink that tastes of honey and raspberries, though nothing is like anything she has ever tasted before.

They are seated across from one another in the center of the room on thin yet comfortable cushions. Solas looks at her thoughtfully as he chews a piece of fruit. She looks up to see him staring and looks back down quickly, suddenly self-conscious.

“May I ask about your markings? They are unlike any I have seen before,” he probes gently. She looks up from her meal again.

“They honor the gods. Mine represent June, God of the Craft. I chose to honor him after I was faced with a unique dilemma about what weapon I ought to wield. I am skilled both in hunting with the bow as well as magic. And so I carved my own weapon, a bow that, upon being unstrung, can be used as a staff.”

Solas listens intently, a small furrow carved between his eyes.

“I am unfamiliar with this rendition of June’s markings. I wonder if perhaps they changed over time? Although…” he trails off, looking uncertain.

“Although what?” she presses as she leans forward, the cheese in her hand forgotten.

“I am unsure of how to phrase it. It seems in your time, you still worship them as your gods. And it is true, they are worshipped. But… Well, to put it bluntly, they are not gods. Merely beings who are more in-tune with magic than others.”

She sits back on her heels, letting the information sink in. “So you're telling me they're nothing but powerful mages? But how does that make any sense? My people have worshipped them for thousands of years.”

“That is simply the truth… I am sorry, but your people are incorrect to worship them as any kind of creators,” he says in a concerned, pitying voice. He rushes on, changing the subject. “But I am…not sure what you mean by _mage_. And earlier you mentioned a staff, but in regards to magical prowess, I do not see the connection.”

“A mage is someone who can use magic, and a staff is what they use to channel such power,” she offers, her mind still far away, thinking of false gods and worthless traditions.

“You imply not everyone can access magic,” he murmurs after a moment.

Her brow crinkles again. “Well, no. They can't. Only some, and those that can't are usually deeply mistrustful of those who can.”

“ _Everyone_ can use magic here. Some have more prowess than others, but even children can conjure a simple flame.”

She sits there silently, her mouth slightly open in shock. She stirs herself from her reverie and continues.

“It is nothing like that in my time. If you are found to have magic, you are carted off to a Circle, where you are taught to control yourself, lest you leave yourself open to possession. I never went to a circle because most Dalish mages don't. That's not to say the Templars wouldn't drag me off given the first opportunity.”

“Templars?”

“They are like the magical law enforcement. They use lyrium to control and sometimes subdue the mages.”

Solas sat forward suddenly, his eyes darting over her face. “What do you know of lyrium?” he asks earnestly.

“Not much. We don't really have a big supply in the clan. What we do obtain we purchase from other clans, who purchase it from the Shems. I have heard that some even manage to purchase directly from Dwarven merchants.”

Solas hums and sits back again, looking agitated.

“It is troubling to me that the use of lyrium continues in your time. It has proven…toilsome in this time.”

“Why? What has happened?”

He studies her for a moment out of the side of his eyes. “It is, perhaps, a story for another time.”

“Isn't _this_ another time? For me at least?”

Solas smirks and shakes his head. “Nice try, da’len. Now, if you are finished, I will show you to the baths. I daresay you would like to freshen up after your little midnight stroll.”

Shaking her head free of the tangles of their breakfast conversation, she nods and moves to stand up. Solas is to his feet in an instant, offering his hand to her in assistance. He leads her to the only doorway through which she has not yet entered in the tiny domicile.

A short, narrow corridor greets them, opening up into a small yet spacious round room. At the center, a sunken pool of water glistens and flicks its glimmering reflections of light over the walls. A slight fog emanating over the surface tells her the water is heated. A shiver of anticipation rolls over her, and when she turns to thank Solas, he has already left her to her privacy.

Silently, she slips the gown over her head and leaves it in a mound near the entrance to the corridor. She slips her body into the pool, marveling over its warmth and ability to greatly diminish the knots of worry and panic that had been lurking surreptitiously within her muscles.

The water reaches to her neck and she finds herself inhaling the steam and relaxing backward until she is floating on the water. The pool is only perhaps three meters wide and four meters long, and not very deep at all, maybe four feet. But it is enough to allow her stretch out completely without touching any of the sides.

She lets her mind drift, remembering the day she’d been forced to go with the Tevinters. Her clan had only been in that particular stretch of the western Free Marches for about a week when she and the head Hunter of the clan, along with a few apprentices, had gone out in search of meat to bring home.

Telhen had walked straight into a trap. Untalented in magic, he had been unable to detect the shimmer of the trap before ensnaring himself in it. Hearing his screams, she had followed the source to find Telhen bound by magic at the center of a group of cruel Tevinters. The apprentices all lay dead around them. There she had begged for his life, pleading until they had finally agreed to take her in his stead. She was capable of considerable magical talent herself, but even she wasn’t stupid enough to take on six armed Tevinter mages.

The last thing she remembered before waking up in a cell in the dungeons of Alexius’ estate was Telhen’s distraught face looking up at her from where he cowered on the ground. His bow lay in two pieces next to him and his daggers had been confiscated. Her own weapon was nowhere to be found.

Pulling away from her memories, she lets her feet fall back to the bottom of the pool and opens her eyes. She spies a white chunk of what she assumes is soap sitting at the edge of the pool. She reaches for it and begins to scrub away the grime on her body and traces of dried blood from beneath her fingernails. After vigorously scraping her scalp raw of all dirt and filth, she rinses herself and climbs out of the pool, glancing around for something to dry off with.

Finding a stack of pristine white linens along the far wall, she wraps one around her body. She softly pads through the small walkthrough and into the larger common room to find Solas sitting at his desk, poring over his maps. She pauses as he scribbles something down on one of them.

He looks up suddenly, feeling her gaze upon him. He stands abruptly and his cheeks color slightly as he takes in her appearance.

“My apologies. I did not bring you a change of clothes. Please, I will return in a moment with something suitable.”

He all but flees from the room, back toward the direction of the bedroom. Although she is damp, she finds the temperature in the room to be pleasant. She leans against the wall and waits patiently, but Solas is already back, proffering an armful of clothing.

“These are mine,” he stammers, averting his eyes. “They will be big, but I will modify them once you are dressed.”

She takes them and thanks him, smirking a little at his apparent discomfort from her implied nudity. Back in the bath room, she slips the simple brown pants and olive tunic over her head and hangs the towel from a bar next to the stack of fresh ones. The tunic hangs to her knees and she struggles to hold the pants up as she walks back out to where Solas is seated back at his desk, pointedly not looking toward the doorway. The tips of his ears are still pink.

She clears her throat, her hands grasping tightly around the waist of the pants to keep them from falling to her ankles. Solas stands and strides over to her, relief obvious on his face now that she is clothed again. With a casual wave of his hand, she feels the clothing begin to shrink and form to her figure until it fits appropriate to her size.

“Neat trick,” she says, impressed as she checks herself over. The clothing is not exactly something she would have worn back home, but it is comfortable and functional.

“So,” she begins, looking up at Solas again. “Have you had any ideas about how to get me back to my own time?”

“I have a couple of theories, but they may lead to nothing. Or they could lead to everything. We will not know until we test it out.” He crosses the room and opens a small chest sitting on a shelf. Inside is a small sphere with curved lines carved into it. It emits a faint green glow, which shines slightly brighter when it comes into contact with his hand.

He carries the orb over to where she stands watching.

“This is a foci,” he explains, lifting it so she can better examine it. “It is specifically tuned to me, and under normal circumstances, will not respond to any other brand of magic without extreme force. To do so would be foolish and would result in the death of whomever attempted it.”

She can feel the energy surrounding it like a self-contained gravity and she feels the sudden urge to touch it. She forces her hands behind her back to resist the temptation. It seems somehow familiar to her, like déjà vu, but she is positive she has never seen such a thing in her life.

“I think I may be able to tune you into it without completely reducing my own focus within it. It is risky, but I am fine-tuned to all the intricacies of its moods and will be able to tell at a moment’s notice if its allegiance does not return your favor. You should be safe.”

“You speak of it as though it were a living being,” she says in a low voice, her eyes still glued to the object.

“In many ways, it _does_ mimic a living being. No, it cannot see or hear or eat or sleep. But it has a certain awareness that inanimate objects do not normally possess. A rock is just a rock, but fill it with energy and it gains the potential to become more than it ever was before.”

“What do you intend to do? Will it hurt?”

“The process should be painless, but I cannot promise you will feel nothing at all. As I said before, it is just a theory I have. If I can tune you into its energy, then with all our powers combined, I may be able to rip open a hole in time itself to send you back.”

“I…I am willing to give it a shot. What’s the worst that can happen?”

“Well, you could end up going back even further in time. Or you could be deposited far into the future. Or somewhere in between, where I might not be able to help you. Or the rip in time could shred your body until nothing is left to put back together. And if the hole snaps shut before you are fully through, well…”

She scowls at Solas. “It was a rhetorical question, Solas, but thanks for the reassurance.” He grins and she realizes he is only toying with her.

“Shall we get started?” he asks, beckoning her back to the cushions in the center of the room where they had eaten breakfast earlier. She falters and stands rooted to the spot.

“What, now?”

“I see no reason to wait. You are eager to return to your own time and I am eager to help you attain that goal.”

She hesitates for a moment, then sinks down onto the cushion beside Solas. Taking a deep breath, she turns to him. “Just tell me what to do.”

Solas settles himself onto his cushion and looks back to her.

“Hold out your hand,” he orders kindly, and he encloses her hand in his. Sitting across from her with one hand clasped around hers and one holding the orb up at chest level, he closes his eyes and begins to speak in Elvhen, most of the words slipping past her without any comprehension on her part. The orb begins to float in the air between them, the emanating green light growing stronger and brighter with each passing second.

When the light reaches blinding intensity, she becomes aware of a hum in the air, setting her nerves tingling in anticipation. Solas pulls her hand up to meet the orb where it hovers. Suddenly, an image shimmers to life in the air before them.

It shows her a darkened room, where a bloodied table with leather straps sits in the center, flanked by many wooden tables covered in a variety of sinister-looking instruments. A man lies crumpled on the floor while another stands gaping in her direction, almost as though he can see her.

The man steps forward, his brilliant mustache quivering and his black hair glinting in the torchlight. He reaches out a hand toward her and she knows in that instant that he really can see her. A breeze gushes through the opening, smelling of copper and malevolent energy. This isn't simply a glimpse, but a true doorway into another time.

But she has no desire to go to this place, with its dark edges and feelings of dread. This is the wrong moment. She needs to go back to before her capture. Perhaps she would be able to prevent her and Telhen from ever going hunting in the first place. She could prevent the deaths of those apprentices. The clan had survived many days without meat in the past. They would not starve that day and not any of the several days ahead of them.

Just as she resolves to move back, the man reaching out to her stumbles and falls hard to the left. A different man stands in his place, presumably the one she had seen crumpled on the ground a moment before. There is a snarl on his face and he launches himself toward the torn fabric of time rippling before him.

She screams and scrambles backward as the man advances upon the doorway, a swell of red magic growing in his palm. She yanks her hand away from the orb in panic, severing the connection and closing the doorway in an instant. The glowing sphere quivers and snaps to her hand like a magnet in the wake of the sudden movement. Desperately, she tries to pry the sphere from her hand, but it is stuck, its vivid green becoming more and more mottled with each passing second. Then a searing pain suddenly rips through her hand and up her arm.

She shrieks and doubles over. Solas grabs for the orb and attempts to wrench it away, but the moment his skin comes in contact with the glowing ball, a blast rents through the room, sending them both flying backward. She lands hard on her back and her head snaps back, crashing into the hard tile floor as the wind is knocked from her lungs. 

The world waxes dark again to the sound of a heavy object rolling across the floor. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No Elvhen translations this chapter! Thanks for reading, it ended up being a lot longer than I initially intended! Stay tuned, I have quite a bit planned out for this story!


	5. Compassion

It feels as though she has been unconscious for hours, but when she opens her eyes, she still hears the orb rolling to a stop, though it is distant and muffled. Before she can sit up on her own, Solas is yanking her to her feet. He shakes her by the shoulders and shouts something, but her head is fuzzy and she can't understand him.

“What happened?” he yells again as her head begins to clear. She looks at him in shock.

“Didn't you see it?” she asks plainly. He regards her momentarily.

“I…I do not know what I saw. It was like water, but vertical, rippling out before me.”

“There was a room behind it. I think it might have been the room Alexius tried to sacrifice me in. And I think Alexius saw me, but I'm not entirely sure it was him. They had me blindfolded. I never saw their faces. I panicked and pulled away. I thought he would take me back and finish the job.”

By now, the adrenaline rushing through her veins is slowing down, leaving her trembling before Solas. He loosens his grip on her shoulders and slides them down her arms in a comforting manner.

“It is okay,” he murmurs. “He cannot reach you now. You are safe here.” There is a softness in his eyes and she believes him. He turns and walks across the room to where the orb has rolled.

As he bends down to pick it up, he looks over his shoulder at her. “We can try again tomorrow if you like. I was focusing on returning you home, but perhaps I focused too much on _time_ rather than actual location. It seems focusing on time only returns you to the moment you left.”

His hand closes around the orb and he frowns, standing upright and looking down at it in confusion. He stares intently at it for a moment, and she notices it does not brighten the way it had earlier. In fact, the color seems completely wrong now.

“What did you do?” he whispers, still gazing at the sphere in his hands. She turns and steps toward him.

“What do you mean?”

“The orb. It is not responding to me.” He looks up and glances down at her hands. She turns them over, looking at her palms. There, on her left palm. It is so faint, she almost thinks it's just part of the natural lines on her hand; but no, a thin white line nestles there amidst the regular lines, almost like a scar. Upon closer inspection, she notices a faint lavender light emanating from it.

Her head jerks back up, her eyes wide and fearful. “I don't understand…what is this? What happened?”

He marches over and his fingers close roughly over her wrist, jerking her hand up to meet his eyes. For a moment he simply stands there and stares at it. He turns her hand over and drops the foci into it, watching as it crackles to life at her touch, its color muddied and no longer green. He appears to be holding his breath, and after an agonizing stretch of silence, he releases it all at once, letting go of her wrist and stepping back in one swift movement.

“It would appear the foci has attached itself to you completely, instead of only partially like I had intended,” he monotones, his eyes glazed over as he stares off at nothing in particular.

Her jaw slackens in shock. “I—I did not mean… I don't want it! Can't you take it back?” She holds the orb out to him desperately.

Solas smiles sadly, shaking his head slowly. “Without knowledge of how to accomplish it yourself, forcing it from you would end in your death. It must be given willingly, and there must be considerable skill behind it. You are unfamiliar with such magic. I cannot instruct you without a foci of my own. We are at an impasse.”

“But you're a _god_. You're Fen'Harel,” she insists. What do you care for the death of someone such as I? I am nothing compared to you. Our lives are barely a breath in the wind compared to yours.”

He looks at her sharply, eyes flashing angrily. “I am not a monster. I do not kill for the pleasure of it, and even in times of need, I would see my enemies locked away rather than snuffed out. Life is precious. To grind it beneath my foot as though it is nothing more consequential than an _ant_ would make me no better than my brethren.”

She lowers her eyes in shame. “I'm sorry,” she mutters. “The stories—”

“Whatever stories about me that have survived to your time are incorrect. I am not a god. The gods of old have long since been locked away in the void. We who remain, we are a powerful people, but no more gods than you are. As I explained before, some of us possess more prowess with our magical abilities, and some of us use it shamelessly, leaving chaos and destruction in our wake. The people worship them. It is easy to see why your people believe us to be gods.”

Solas sighs and steps back again. “I am sorry, da’len, but I need a moment to myself. The loss of my foci is not something I take lightly. There is much to consider. I will return this evening.”

With that, he turns around and strides out the door and into the jungle, his robes sweeping behind him. Looking down at the foci clutched in her hand, she sinks to the floor. Her head buzzes and swirls with the events of the past hour. She despairs, knowing that she does not possess the knowledge nor the power to get back to her time on her own, and knowing she has taken the only means for which Solas had of helping her. She drops the sphere into her lap and buries her head in her hands, trying to stopper the tears.

They overwhelm her and spill from between her fingers. Once the dam bursts, she is unable to control the emotions from overflowing. She sobs and shakes, clenching her fists into her hair in frustration. She would almost rather be dead than stuck in an unfamiliar place, alone, with none but the boogeyman of her people to keep her company.

As her tears abate, she lies down, curling her body around the orb and resting her head on one of the cushions. She stares off into the distance, drifting in and out of awareness, though not quite asleep, and the hours slip away. It is during one of these moments of drifting that Solas returns. He walks silently over to where she lies curled up on the floor and crouches down, examining her emotionless features. She is not aware of him yet, her vacant amethyst eyes staring out, seeing nothing but the images swirling within her mind.

He reaches out and brushes a stray lock of ebony from her cheek. Sighing, he scoops her up and carries her to his chambers, laying her on the soft white linens. He rests the unresponsive orb next to her body, and as he leaves, he gives it a baleful look.

*****

The next morning dawns in a burst of radiant reds and oranges, and it is the mad twittering of birds that awakens her. She does not even remember falling asleep, and only vaguely remembers Solas, his touch gentle as he lifted her and placed her in bed the previous evening.

She sits up and rubs the sleep from her eyes. A soft weight beside her pulls at her senses, her arm tingling in response. She looks and sees the orb glowing a soft violet beside her.

 _Violet?_ she wonders to herself. It seemed to match the color of the magic swirling within the scar on her hand now. She shakes her head slightly, putting the enigma to the back of her mind. She hesitantly reaches out and takes the orb into her palm, letting the comforting weight of it consume her mind as it brightens in response to her touch.

There's a noticeable clarity to the world now, as though a fog has lifted. Inspired, she reaches for her magic. Immediately, frost springs to her fingertips. Instead of being out of control as it had been the prior morning, it is steadfast and sturdy. She feels the connection, each minuscule tendril from the Fade flowing gracefully into her body. She feels every tiny shift, like a spider in its web.

Testing herself, she drops the orb onto the bed while holding onto the frost at her fingertips. Almost instantly, the frost turns into a great spike of ice, arching out of her fingers and into the air. She releases the magic in a panic, her heart beating in her throat. The orb seems to grant her some modicum of control over her magic in this time, but she couldn't very well go around holding the sphere at all times. She would need to practice. She picks the globe up again.

A soft knock interrupts her thoughts. She looks up to see Solas standing shyly in the doorway, a mournful look in his eyes. He holds a tray with a small sample of food on it. He sucks in a breath as his eyes land on the now-violet orb and he steps hesitantly into the room.

“I thought you might like something to eat. You barely touched your breakfast yesterday.” His voice is resolute, as though he has steeled himself against the futile disappointment. She nods at him, not quite meeting his eyes, and draws her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. He perches on the edge of the bed, setting the tray down at her side.

“Thank you, Solas,” she mumbles into her knees. “You continue to show me a kindness for which I'm not sure I deserve.”

He cocks his head to the side momentarily. “It is not as though this incident were born of some ill-intent on your part. On the contrary, after all you have been through, with misfortune thrust upon you at every turn, I have acted quite appallingly. Frankly, you deserve more than what little hospitality I have shown.”

She is quiet at this, her mind turmoiling with guilt. Finally, she looks up, directly into his eyes.

“Will you teach me?”

“It is… As I said before, it is impossible to teach you without displaying such power myself. Without my foci, I am afraid I may not be able to bring you to your full potential.”

“So you'll give up without even trying?” Her voice takes on a steely, stubborn edge as she fixes Solas with a pointed look.

“I…” He falters, his head tilted as he gives her a piercing gaze. “I suppose there is no harm in trying. Very well. I will attempt to help.”

A smile overcomes her features, with a hint of relief playing at the edges. She launches herself up from her curled position on the bed and throws her arms around his neck, breathing in his scent. Green, like the forest, with a hint of something else. Paper, perhaps?

Solas stiffens beneath her unexpected embrace, and clears his throat awkwardly. She pulls away, gazing at his flushed expression, suddenly self-conscious.

“I'm sorry. I was just a bit excited,” she gushes.

“A bit,” Solas agrees, shaking his head a little. He stands and looks back to her. “There are fresh clothes in the drawers beneath the bed. Please eat, then ready yourself. We should begin immediately.”

She nods sedately and reaches for the plate, popping a small piece of cheese into her mouth for effect. Satisfied, Solas disappears through the doorway.

Twenty minutes later, she stands in the center of the common room, one hand around the orb, the other waving through the air, creating tiny ripples of wind.

“Good,” observes Solas as he walks around her. “Now I want you to try the same thing, but do so without the orb. The idea is to build the connection to the point you no longer need to be in constant contact with it to retain the same amount of power.”

She reaches out and drops the orb into Solas’ outstretched hand. Returning to the task at hand, she reaches for the magic, directing it to her fingertips. Suddenly, a torrential gale pours from her fingertips, and with a tremendous crash, the heavy, solid wood desk flips over onto its side, skidding across the floor and flinging its various maps and papers up into the windstorm.

“Stop!” Solas shouts above the rush of air, clamping his fingers around her wrist. She releases the magic immediately, and the room falls silent, except for the fluttering sound of paper falling to the floor.

“Perhaps _amount_ was the wrong term. The orb does not necessarily grant _more_ power…we are all capable of extraordinary feats of magic. Instead, think of the foci as a means to _focus_ that power. Without focus, many of use would fail to accomplish much. Many Elvhen have small trinkets or objects they use as foci, though admittedly it is not quite as good as a true foci such as this. Each one is bonded to a single person, and can only be shared by will of its owner. You would never be able to steal one successfully.”

“In my time, mages use staves to focus their magic. But I've never heard of anyone _bonding_ to their staff. You can just pick up any old staff and use it.” She pauses, thinking for a moment before continuing. “I've never had such power at my fingertips before. Back home, I really have to reach for it, and it usually produces only minor results. Enough to accomplish whatever it is it's being called for, but nothing like what I've done so far. Everything just seems to flow through me. I can't figure out what's different about this time, but it's definitely there.”

Solas hums thoughtfully. “It is a strange thing,” he says at last, fixing her with a stare.

“It's almost like the Veil is extremely weak here,” she offers, looking around, as though such a thinning in the Veil would be visible to her.

“The Veil?” Solas wonders, his brow crinkling in puzzlement. “I am not sure of what you refer to.”

She drops her hands to her side and looks at Solas blankly.

“You know, the Veil. It's…well, it's not anything _physical_ , you can't see it or touch it, but you can't just walk through it, either. It keeps the Fade separate from the waking world. It keeps out the spirits and demons.”

His eyes widen at this, and for a moment, he is speechless.

“Solas?” she prompts, concern furrowing her brow. His eyes snap to hers.

“There is…no such thing in this time. Spirits cross freely from the Fade into this realm, and any who wish to visit the Fade may do so at a whim. Demons are rare, and are the result of their nature being twisted against their original purpose. Even then, it would take something monumental for that to occur.”

She opens her mouth to respond, but Solas cuts across her.

“This _Veil_. It makes you weaker to magic?”

“Well, yes, I suppose it does. When I reach for it, if I'm distracted at all, it is difficult to grasp. But here, I feel it all around me, constantly ebbing and flowing against my skin. Is that how it is for you?”

He nods serenely. “Yes, but I do not notice it so much. Perhaps because it has always been a part of my reality, it is as natural as breathing. Certainly, if I concentrate on it, I am aware of it, the same way it is when I draw a breath, feel my lungs expanding, my body rejuvenating, and then expelling, warm air flowing from my body. But then the next second I have already forgotten all about it. It is a difficult thing to concentrate on for any length of time.”

She listens to him intently, and answers in a melancholic voice, “I wish it were so in my time.”

Solas gazes at her in silence before he shakes himself of his reverie. “Shall we continue?” He hands the orb back to her and she palms it, reveling in the warm glow of the amethyst light sinking into her skin.

They work on technique for the next couple hours, morning drifting into afternoon without a notice on either of their parts. Finally, Solas calls a halt to the exercises and disappears off toward the bath room to freshen up. She sits cross-legged on the floor, the orb in her lap, her thoughts consumed with the day’s activities and conversations.

“Guilt, confusion, fear. He is afraid of what he might do.”

She jumps to her feet in fright, her heart in her throat as she searches frantically for the disembodied voice that sounded somewhere behind her.

“Something more. Longing. Loneliness. He has secluded himself purposely, to avoid pain and hurt when his deed is done.”

The voice sounds from her other side and she wheels around.

“Who are you? What do you want?”

“I want to help,” the voice says from behind her. She spins around, and there a boy stands. But he is not quite a boy, not quite…solid. His blonde hair falls into his eyes, the tips of his Elvhen ears just peeking out beneath the curtain of gold. He wears a simple green robe, the tips of his bare toes just visible at the hem. He seems to be shimmering, shifting between translucency and swirling pearlescence.

“ _What_ are you?” she clarifies, taking him in.

“I am a spirit of compassion,” he answers, bowing his head toward her. “Sorrow, melancholy. Relief. You miss him, but you are also relieved to be away. He was smothering you, and you ache for freedom.”

Her cheeks redden as she stares at the spirit. “How do you know that?” she wonders aloud.

“Pulse racing, cheeks flushing. They have sent her to die for me. It is all my fault.”

“All _your_ —what are you talking about, spirit?”

“Jealousy, anger. Why has it forsaken me? A flicker of surprise. The scent of something sweet, something floral. Heart stuttering, I must regain control of myself.”

“Are you a demon?” she whispers as her throat constricts in fright. She had never actually come across one in her lifetime of wandering with her clan. Was he truly a spirit, or something more?

“A…demon? No… You are lost in a world you do not belong to. Trembling, afraid, how will I get home?”

His piercing, ethereal blue eyes take on a solemn, mournful gaze, and she feels herself reaching out to him.

“Will you help?”

His eyes meet hers and he ducks his head sharply in acquiescence.

“Help. Yes, I will help.”

She pulls her hand away. “What should I call you, spirit of compassion?”

“Call me?”

“Unless you wish to simply be called Compassion?” she prompts.

He gives thought to the matter, then lifts his gaze to her.

“I think I would like to be called Khole.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know. I had to alter Cole. I couldn't very well have a human-shaped Cole appearing in the middle of ancient Arlathan, could I? So I gave him Elvhen features and dehumanized his name. Don't hate me!
> 
> Your comments and kudos are my lifeblood for this story! Let me know what you think so far!


	6. A Forgotten History

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize in advance, some of this might seem a little dense. I have read probably every scrap of information about Elvhen legends, gods, modern religion, etc, etc, etc. And so I wanted to present some of my historical theories to you in this story, to set the stage, so to speak, for the rest of the world I want to create for you. Some of it is probably incorrect, but that's the beauty of a theory. Until the fourth game is released to shed light on some of the more obscure history, I am going to assume that my theories are correct. This chapter ends up being a bit longer than my usual chapters, but bear with me! I promise you'll be nicely rewarded for your patience in due time!

“Who are you talking to?” comes Solas’ voice from the doorway. She spins around, her mind suddenly blank.

“I….” There's something there, just at the fringes of her memory, but when she reaches for it, it vanishes. “I think I was just talking to myself.”

Solas gives her a strange look before shrugging and walking across the room to his desk chair, where he had left his robe. He is wearing loose linen trousers and has a towel slung around his shoulders. She finds herself staring at his lean figure, striking in the afternoon light.

She shakes herself suddenly, snapping herself out of it.

 _That is entirely inappropriate,_ she thinks to herself.

They lunch in silence, each consumed with their own thoughts. When Solas is finished, he stands and wanders over to his desk, hunching over the maps again while she pokes about the room, humming with curiosity at the different objects and books scattered about. She picks up a small ornamental dish, made of ceramic or porcelain or some similar material and turns it over in her hands. Elvish words are carved into it along the outer rim.

“I wish I knew more of the old language,” she says woefully, mostly to herself, but she is aware of Solas looking up from his work to peer at her.

“I…may know a spell,” he offers tentatively. “I have only seen it performed once before. I have never tried it myself, but I believe I can reproduce it.”

“Why didn't you offer this spell of yours before now?” she asks, her chin jutting up.

His eyes flash defiantly at her tone. “I was rather distracted by the idea that you might be a spy of my enemies. And you never asked me to translate Andruil’s words, so thought perhaps you were feigning your lack of ability.”

Her mouth gapes open at this. “That was— You mean to tell me that was _Andruil_ I ran into out there? But why didn't you say so?”

He stills for a moment. “Well of course it was. Who else would it be? She is not exactly unknown to the People.”

“I'm not from this time, though, remember?”

“I…” he trails off, looking at her guiltily. “At the time, it did not cross my mind. I apologize for my rash thinking. Anyway…back to the matter at hand. Would you like me to do the spell?”

She hesitates, unsure of how to respond. The Elvhen language was all but dead in her time. Bits and pieces, fragments and phrases were all that remained, and even then it was likely they weren't all correct. If she accepted this gift and somehow found a way home… The possibilities were endless. She could revive the language. She could become someone important to her clan, to her _people_ , rather than just an oddity, the girl with both the skills of a Hunter and the skills of a First.

“Will it hurt?” she blurts out. She has felt enough pain to last a lifetime at this point. The corner of his mouth quips up and he shakes his head slowly before standing and striding over to where she stands.

“It will feel like nothing more than the whisper of wind at your throat.” She gazes up at him and swallows thickly, suddenly aware of his closeness. He is standing so close she can smell him, his woodsy scent mingling with that of an old library, making her feel slightly heady. Her eyes closed slightly from the intoxication, she nods up at Solas.

He gently pulls the fragile dish from her hands and places it on the shelf behind her. He then tilts her chin up, leaning forward, his mouth inches from hers. Startled into soberness, she pushes herself away frantically, her breath hitching in her throat as she stares at Solas in bewilderment.

“What in the _Void_ are you doing?” she barks at Solas, her brow rutted in consternation as her heart hammers in her throat. Solas tilts his head quizzically, standing upright again as his hand falls away from where it had cupped her chin only moments before.

“I do not understand. I thought you wanted me to do the spell?”

“By kissing me?” she asks incredulously, her hands balling up into fists at her hips.

“It is a language spell. It stands to reason I will need to be in close proximity to the instrument used to produce said language. And in any case, I was not going to _kiss_ you. Unless you _want_ me to, that is,” he adds, a wicked grin appearing on his face along with a dangerous glint in his eyes that makes her stomach flip over unexpectedly. She flaps her hands at him playfully, shaking her head as an embarrassed flush begins to creep up her neck.

“Sorry. I guess in my time, something like that just seems more… I don't know. _Intimate_ I suppose.”

“Well we certainly have intimacy in this time, too, but I assure you, I have nothing but chaste thoughts in my head. I would never force myself upon you or anyone else, for that matter.” A silence passes between them while she absorbs his words. “Shall we try again?” he suggests, taking a tentative step towards her again.

Bracing herself this time, she lifts her mouth up to meet his. He is correct; while their lips are still touching, it is nothing like a kiss. There is no sense of feeling behind the touch, no urgency or lust. He merely presses his mouth to hers, and places his hands upon her shoulders. At all three points of contact, she suddenly feels as though wind is rushing into her body. Her mind clouds over with indistinct whispers, her vision turns to white behind her closed eyelids.

All at once, it is over, and she opens her eyes to see Solas standing about a foot in front of her, looking at her expectantly.

“Ma eolasa’ma?” Solas says tentatively, his eyes boring into hers. She shakes her head in frustration.

“I don't think it worked. I'm sorry.” She gazes back at Solas sadly, but he is smiling widely at her now, and lifts his hand to place a single finger against her lips.

“Do you understand me?” he repeats, moving his hands back to her shoulders. A stabbing pain throbs at her temples, and subsides a moment later. She smiles.

“Yes,” she answers at last. “It sounds like Common to me, though.”

“And yet you are speaking it flawlessly. It takes some getting used to, but eventually you will be able to tell, almost like a whisper beneath the words.” He gives her a reassuring squeeze before moving away, back toward his desk.

She turns back to the shelf and picks up the small etched dish again, peering at the words along the rim. This time, she reads it as clearly as if it had been written with the Common alphabet.

“ _Where refuge is freely offered, so too is loyalty_ ,” she reads aloud. “What does it mean?” She looks to Solas again, who glances back from his desk.

“It means that those who I have given aid to will not readily forget me. Although I have never asked for penitence in exchange for my help, it would seem that many are unwilling to accept my protection without offering their loyalty to me in return. In fact, when you first appeared here in this room, I thought one of them had gone a step further…” A sadness overtakes his features, and he looks down at his hands, his thumbs fiddling over one another. “I never wanted to be elevated, to be placed on a pedestal. I am not a god. I am nothing more or different than anyone else. All I did was try to treat everyone with fairness and equality, and when the others went too far and caused suffering, I tried to ease it. I do not see how that makes me special.”

“How did you come to be in this position? Were you born to a prosperous family of this time?”

“I…I do not remember anything of my childhood, if I am being honest. I do not know from whence I came. Only that, at once, I was. I do not remember a time before _them_. My awareness begins with them. As nothing more than a dog, a courier, a liaison, an ambassador, or whatever word you wish to use for me. Was I a true god before, or just the tool of one? Perhaps I am but a medium in some unknown Artist's twisted canvas. And perhaps that Artist has abandoned this particular canvas, a half-finished painting for which I am now the chosen curator. But I have not been a good curator. Brushes are wielded by many copycats, all claiming to know the desires of the Artist, all claiming to know what the end product must be.” He sweeps his arms before him, his eyes flashing around the room. He continues on, ranting in his retelling of history.

“These _gods_ the people in your time worship, these false Artists, each and every one of them, even Mythal, who could have been considered better than the rest, they used me for their own ends. I was nothing more than a glorified servant, belonging to no single entity, and yet called upon to do the bidding of them all.” An angry glint grows in his eyes, his fists balling up as he stares off into some unknown memory.

“In my time, they say that you walked amongst both the gods as well as the Forgotten Ones without fear of harm from either side,” she prompts, stepping forward, thirsting for the knowledge her people had long since lost. “Are you saying that you were just tool to them all?”

“I do not know what you mean by these _Forgotten Ones_ … but I can guess what you are referring to. The Wardens of the Old Gods, chosen long ago by the One Creator to keep vigilant watch over their prisons, lest they escape and bring madness upon the world once more. I am able to walk amongst them without madness overtaking me. Do not ask me why, for I do not know. Once upon a time, Andruil entered the Void in search of the Wardens and went mad from the experience. The sickness she brought home to her people would have meant her death if Mythal had not stepped in to help. I believe the sickness is a curse, or some sort of spell laid down by the One Creator to prevent anyone from doing what Andruil was attempting to do. Perhaps I truly was created to be a messenger, immune to the spell so that communication between our realms can take place.”

She looks at him, her jaw hanging open, the dish in her hand forgotten. She takes another step toward him.

“I've never heard about anything like that. The Wardens in my time are people who fight the Blight. The Old Gods are the supposed gods worshipped by the Tevinter Imperium.”

Solas looks at her strangely for a moment. “It does not surprise me to learn that the Tevinters worship them. My limited exposure to them shows me they are barely more than a savage race of people, basking in the misery of others.” He shakes his head in disgust, his brow furrowing angrily.

“Our legends say that once upon a time, these Old Gods were proud and magnificent beings who were created by the One Creator to watch over the People and protect them. Then they became twisted, maddened by their influence and power, and the One Creator, sorely disappointed, locked them away. He chose Wardens from amongst the People to watch over their prisons and ensure they never escaped back into this world.”

“Why didn't this One Creator just destroy the Old Gods if they were so terrible? Why risk these Wardens going mad as well?”

“He was proud. These were his creations. To kill them, to utterly destroy them, would mean admitting he had failed. His pride was such that he would rather see them locked away than destroyed completely.”

Her mind whirs as she processes this information. “You said something similar, about your own enemies.”

He smiles ruefully. “To be truthful, it is an ideal I have always admired about the One Creator. To show mercy where so many would have simply chosen execution. I am sorry to know that knowledge of his existence has not survived into your time.”

She returns his smile, sadness tinting the corners.

“Where is this One Creator now?”

At this, Solas frowns and looks away from her.

“It is an interesting tale, one that I am afraid I have never learned all the details of. Of course, I have questioned Elgar’nan and Mythal at length about it, but they have never been willing to divulge too far into this particular piece of history.”

“What do Elgar’nan and Mythal have to do with it? At least in my time, they are considered to be _the_ creators of this world. But if it is as you say, they were not the first, nor did they make this land.”

“Well, it is true that they did shape much of history, at least history in the last few millennia. Beyond that, however, no, they were not the first. The One Creator was first, and Creator knows where even _he_ came from or if there are others like him out there.” Solas smiles slightly at his little word play before continuing. “From there, he created the People, although they were different from the People today, much as you are different from us in your time.”

She glances over him, noting his height, taller than any elf she had ever known, his lithe body more muscular and filled out than the lean, slight bodies of modern elves, and the facial structure, the eyes more balanced with the rest of his face rather than large and overwhelming like the elves of her time. If not for the long, pointed ears that marked all her kind as elven, she would have taken him for a human. If there was already such a vast difference between the elves of today and the elves of the future— _her_ future, she couldn't imagine just how different elves of the distant past would look. She meets his eyes again and he continues his story.

“As with everything in the world, time marches on. The People grew and expanded and eventually the wickedness of their nature, for it is inevitable that People will become capable of such atrocities, became too much for the One Creator to keep track of. He was proud and powerful and capable of a great many things, but he never claimed to be all-knowing, and so he drew from the earth the ingredients necessary to craft a police of the People. He gave them the ability to fly over the lands, he granted them intelligence equal to his own, and gave each one a sector of sin or wickedness to command. They were the first dragons of this world, and the most powerful. They were meant as an extension of the One Creator’s power. Their children, while intelligent, were not equal to them, and they are the dragons that survive in the world today.”

“There are still dragons in my time, although there are very few now,” she interjects with a frown. Solas nods sadly.

“The People of the world grew to worship these beings. They were powerful, and as an extension of the One Creator himself, as such were considered gods in their own right. But once again, the One Creator had failed, for it seemed he could not prevent wickedness from growing in the hearts of the very creatures he had created to stifle such things. And so he locked them away in the Void, plucking from the population those he felt most capable of being Wardens to the Old Gods in their prisons.

“Of course the reason the One Creator failed so thoroughly in his creations was because he himself was not immune to the effects of power. Pride was his uplifting and Pride was his downfall. Pride morphed into Vanity and Self-Worship, and then into Arrogance and Narcissism over time. Two of his disciples, Mythal and Elgar'nan, husband and wife, grew tired of his selfishness and took matters into their own hands. They called him down from his golden throne in Uthenera, down to the earth, where he had rarely chosen to tread before. And there they chained him and stripped him of his power, displaying him to his own People, humiliating him in his helplessness to strike back.

“What became of him after that, I cannot say. How they even accomplished such a feat, I can only hypothesize that it was because of his twisted Pride that he was unable to see their mutiny coming. His arrogance was such that he could no longer imagine a world that could ever turn against him. He and his remaining loyal disciples, whose names have long been forgotten to history, fought…and lost.”

Solas trails off, and she stands in stunned silence, examining him in his reverie. Shaking himself, he meets her eyes once more.

“I can understand why your people believe them, Mythal and Elgar’nan, to be the Creators of this world. They did have a large hand in shaping history between then and now, but truly, they are merely stronger than most. They do not possess power like that of the One Creator, or even that of the Old Gods. I do not even know that they are more powerful than the Wardens, tasked with such a burden as they are. But Mythal and Elgar’nan used their cunning and intelligence to trick him, their prowess with magic to defeat him, and then naturally, the People turned to them for leadership. They have had children, and some of those children have taken on partners, others from amongst the People who possessed a similar aptitude for magic and intelligence, generals from the wars that ravaged the lands after the fall of the One Creator.

“But they have all fallen victim to that very same wicked nature. No longer do they care for the well-being of their people. No longer do they feel any sense of duty in the light of suffering and tragedy. And all too often are they the cause of it all. They enslave their own people, force them to build ridiculous temples and statues in their honor, all trying to outdo the other, to prove they are the best of the best. And while Mythal was perhaps better than most, even she fell victim to ego and worship.”

“What causes this to happen? Is it simply power that drives them to such madness?” she wonders aloud.

“As for the Old Gods and the One Creator, I can only speculate. But for Mythal, Elgar’nan, Andruil, Ghilan'nain, June, Sylaise, Falon’Din, and Dirthamen, what we call the Evanuris, I know what caused their corruption. The same substance used by the Wardens to keep their prisoners at bay. Lyrium, stolen from the depths of the earth from the body of an ancient and massive creature. It enhanced their magic, allowed them to use their powers frequently and heavily. The worship of the People had never been greater. They went mad with the extra power it gave them.”

Her eyes widen, her mind attempting to process this large intake of information. “But… You're telling me the Forgotten Ones, these _Wardens_ , as you call them, they use lyrium to control the Old Gods? And the… _Evanuris_ ,” she trails, her memory struggling to keep up, “they found the source of the lyrium and are now using it to make themselves more powerful?”

“ _Were_ using it,” Solas corrects. “Mythal is the only one who seemed to become self-aware of this phenomenon. She knew she had become no better than the One Creator she had worked so hard to bring down. And so she slew the creature below the earth, slew it so that nobody could have that power any longer. And the others…they killed her for it. They saw her change of heart as a threat to their own power, her destruction of the creature whose blood was their secret to godhood as a betrayal, and they executed her for it. With the lyrium cut off and tainted by the creature’s decay, the Wardens revolted. We are at war, and the People are nothing more than disposable shields against the onslaught of the Wardens and their charges. And so now I seek to free as many of my enslaved brethren as I can in this pointless, endless war. I have a plan to seal them all away, where they will never be able to enslave the People again.”

He turns away from her at this, placing his hands palm down on his desk. She can see the anger and tension in the muscles of his back where his robe has pulled taut against them. By now she is close enough to reach out and place a hand on his shoulder.

“Tell me how you plan to do this, and perhaps I can help,” she offers, squeezing his shoulder in reassurance. He sighs deeply, his shoulder rising and falling beneath her touch.

“Deceit. Lies. Trickery. I plan to lure them all to one location and then seal them away for good. It is a fate far worse than death, but a fate, I assure you, they are nonetheless due.”

“How exactly will you seal them away?” she presses, her voice lowering to a whisper as she feels the tension rise within his muscles.

“By drawing them into Uthenera. Mythal and Elgar’nan were two of the One Creator's disciples and had large residences carved out within Uthenera, just as all the disciples did. They extended this privilege to their children and their spouses. And while I was never raised to the status of one of them, I was still allowed to tread those halls while I was still their tool. I know where their entrance is in the realm between the Eluvians.”

“You mean to break the Eluvian leading to their homes in Uthenera so they can't return?” she guesses, her thoughts roving over endless possibilities.

Solas stands, and her hand falls away as he turns to face her.

“No. Fixing a broken Eluvian is simple enough if one knows how to do so, and they all possess the knowledge. No, their piece of Uthenera does not lie behind an Eluvian. No Eluvian can reach directly into Uthenera anyway. Once they enter the In-Between, there is a doorway that appears there once they cross into the Fade. I mean to seal that doorway, and to do so, to prevent them escaping from any exits that I may be unaware of, I will need to seal away the entire Fade.”

At this, she gasps and steps back, her hands flying to her mouth as it clicks into place.

“The Veil,” she breathes. “You created the Veil.” His eyes fall and he lowers his head.

“When you mentioned it before, this _Veil_ … I suspected. I wondered if it was indeed the very thing I have been working so hard to put into place. To save my People. And it seems that I was successful, from what you tell me of your time.”

“If there is no Veil here in this time and there is one in mine, logic dictates they are likely one in the same,” she whispers, her eyes locked upon his, her emotions toiling and tossing within her skull. “How do you plan to accomplish this?”

“There are special objects I have placed at various and numerous strategic locations. I have been storing power in them, as much as I can, for some time now. I will not be able to accomplish this with my singular power by itself, even with my foci. I placed these objects in a network. Once I activate the first, the rest will follow, and with my remaining power, I would begin to knit a barrier into place around the edges of the Fade. The activated objects will lift it up and hold it in place so that I will not need to waste energy doing so myself. But once it is completed, it should be self-sustaining, self-powering, drawing on the magic of all the People to keep it in place, though the effect should not be noticeable.”

“Can you still do it without a foci?” she questions, glancing at the orb, which she has left on a cushion in the middle of the room. Its soft amethyst glow captivates her for a moment before she turns back to Solas. His face falls as he gazes longingly at the sphere.

“No. Everything I have prepared, all the work I have put into getting things ready, it was all hinging on the use of my foci. Without it, I will not be strong enough to begin constructing the barrier. There is no backup plan, as I could never have foreseen a time when my foci would be lost to me.

“Then we better get to work on helping me give it back to you,” she states, straightening her back as she stares up at him in determination. He stares back, an unknown emotion flitting over his features.

“I… Thank you. You are the first person I have confided everything in. It feels…freeing, to not have to carry this burden alone.”

She smiles at this. “I _want_ to help. I feel so…so _foolish_ for worshipping them. For praying to them, asking their assistance in anything from trivial tasks to life-changing decisions. And they…they just don't care! They are so consumed with themselves and their power, they would gladly see us wiped out if it meant they got to sit on the biggest and prettiest _throne_.” Her voice rises almost to a shout and takes on a vicious tone at the word _throne_ , her teeth gnashing together, her eyes flashing.

Solas reaches out and touches her arm, his eyes conveying a sense of gentleness and gratitude. “Yes, well, perhaps we can remedy that as well. Perhaps if there are better records left for your people, then the history of this time will not be forgotten and misconstrued.”

His gaze excites over her face, a smile breaking out as he breathes in.

“Will you walk with me? I would like to show you something.” He holds his hand out to her, his excitement infectious. She grins uncertainly and takes his hand, allowing him to lead her out the door and into the jungle. Instead of heading the direction she had gone the first night she had been here, Solas leads her around the modest dwelling to the back.

A standalone shed-like construction stood behind main building, and even from several meters away, she could see the shimmering magic of a barrier surrounding it. Solas raises his hand as they near it and pulls her right through, the magic zinging over her skin like static.

Inside the round room, against the far wall, stands a magnificent and ornate mirror.

“Is that—is it _truly_ …an Eluvian?” she breathes, stopping short in the doorway as her eyes travel up the magical mirror in reverence.

“Yes,” he answers simply, the corners of his mouth turning up in delight.

“They are all lost in my time. The ones that we have uncovered have long since shattered. Where does it go?”

At this, his small smile widens impossibly in enthusiasm.

“Anywhere. _Everywhere_. But for this trip, I wish to show you the jewel of Elvhen civilization.” He turns to the mirror and places his palm upon it. As soon as his skin makes contact with the smooth reflecting surface, it erupts in a brilliant blue light, which shimmers and undulates beneath his touch like molten metal. He turns back and holds his hand out to her, which she takes after a moment of hesitation.

Solas faces the mirror again and steps through, pulling her in behind him, and in an instant, they leave the tiny shed behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well now! We now know how and why Solas did what he did. We know some of the backstory of the Evanuris, and we know what happened to make things spiral out of control. Now it's just a matter of cleaning up the mess. Thank you for taking the time to read my story, and I hope you enjoyed it! Stay tuned for more adventure!
> 
> As always, I love to hear feedback. What do you love, what do you hate (I hope not much)? What excites you about the story? Let me know below!


	7. A Beautiful City

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please welcome my beta [lasereraser](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lasereraser/pseuds/lasereraser) to this fic! Go check out her work!

When she steps out of the Eluvian and into the dim light, she is struck not with awe and wonder, but instead with a certain degree of disappointment.

 _Is this it?_ she wonders to herself, taking in her somewhat average surroundings. She supposes it is pretty, but pretty in a generic sort of way. She had expected a wonder to behold. Perhaps it was yet another thing the Dalish got wrong.

Solas stops and turns back to where she has stopped in her tracks, noting the crestfallen look on her face.

“Is something the matter?” he prods. She fixes him with a look of mild confusion.

“Well…I suppose…I just expected a little more…grandeur,” she bumbles awkwardly, looking down at her feet. Here she is, insulting what is considered to be the jewel of the Elvhen civilization to one of her own gods. The god she was taught to _fear_ , no less. She knows now that he is not actually a _god_ , but old habits die hard.

Solas gazes at her for a moment before throwing his head back and letting out a deep belly laugh, the dreads of his hair cascading down his back and dancing in merriment from the movement. The sudden booming of his laughter startles her and she looks up at him in bewilderment.

“This is not Arlathan, lethallin. This is just the In-Between, the realm between Eluvians. Were you not paying attention earlier?”

She flushes a deep red as she suddenly recalls the history lesson Solas had given her not even an hour ago. “I _was_ paying attention, I just…forgot. I got a bit excited. It's not every day you see an intact Eluvian, you know.”

“Actually, it is.” He smirks and his eyes crinkle in amusement.

“You _know_ what I mean!” She lunges out, intending to give him a playful shove, but he merely cackles and leaps away.

He reaches out and ruffles her hair before turning abruptly and strolling away. Shaking her head in bemusement, she struggles to catch up to his lengthy strides. Eventually he leads her to another mirror, tucked away in a gazebo-like structure.

Turning to him, she says, “You know, Solas—Fen’Harel—whoever you are…I like you better when you aren't being all grim and fatalistic.”

He reaches out to activate the Eluvian. As it flares to life beneath his fingers, he leans back toward her with his eyes twinkling mischievously and says, “I _am_ grim and fatalistic. Liking me is just an enjoyable side benefit.”

He winks at her and then steps out and disappears through the mirror before she can react. Slightly stunned, she quickly follows before it can deactivate. She shudders as the sensation of being immersed in an ice bath washes over her body, but in a moment it is over and she stands blinking in the sunlight.

The first thing she notices is not the city, but the magic. It fills her, surrounds her, buzzes through her veins like a sweet and heady wine. She feels it enter her lungs with each breath she takes, rejuvenating her very soul.

“Oh,” she breathes, her witty retort to Solas already forgotten. And then she sees the city on the horizon. Great spirals of gleaming crystal peek out above the distant treetops, prismatic from the angle of the sun. And there, floating like a cloud above even the tallest of the trees, a magnificent palace unlike anything she could have ever imagined stands against the brilliant blue sky.

Speechless, her eyes search for Solas, and she finds him standing there, looking not at the city but at her. A small crease has formed between his brows and he opens his mouth as though to say something, but clamps it shut after a moment of hesitation. Clearing his expression, he smiles.

“You mentioned that you were not from this area in your time. Have I assumed correctly then that you have never visited Arlathan City before?”

Unable to speak, she merely shakes her head and returns her awestruck eyes to the city.

“No, I suppose you would not have, if it has fallen as you say it has,” Solas says quietly, trailing off into his thoughts.

Taking a deep breath to steel herself, she looks to Solas, sorrow in her eyes.

“I’m sorry, Solas. The Arlathan of my time is nothing more than ruins. There is nothing left of it to even attempt to rebuild, or the Dalish would have done so long ago.”

His mouth presses into a straight line and he sighs, the air blowing out through his nostrils in a hiss, all traces of joviality gone from his features.

“I will think on this matter. Perhaps I can find a way to keep it from happening here in this time, now that I know.”

She searches his eyes, distant and unyielding. “That would be nice, I think,” she replies. His gaze shifts out of his reverie and onto her.

“I have never been to Arlathan in the company of one who has never before set eyes upon it. Would you do this old man the honor of being the first?” He proffers his elbow out to her, a spark of excitement returning to his eyes.

“It would be my pleasure,” she beams as she loops her hand through his arm. They turn and walk at a leisurely pace towards the gleaming city in the distance.

As they draw closer to the entrance of the city, she notices small things within the landscape. Creatures she never knew existed frolic in the underbrush, birds with colors that had ceased to be known in her time swoop overhead. Her eyes delight upon every surface they touch and she finds herself giddy with anticipation as the city grows closer, looming over their heads.

When they finally step inside the city gates, she feels as though she has been transported to another world.

 _Although I've already had that happen to me once,_ she thinks wryly to herself. The streets bustle with activity. Elvhen people, tall and broader shouldered than the ones from her time, skitter to and fro, all on some errand or another. She draws a few curious glances, but it is Solas they cannot keep their eyes off. More than a few of them bow their head toward him with mutterings of “my Lord” and “Fen’Harel” under their breaths.

Their vallaslin look nothing close to the familiar tracings of her time, and so she has no idea who is slave to whom. Solas, sensing her confusion, begins to explain it to her as they turn onto an emptier street.

“There are different markings for different levels of servitude. The simplest markings are on the lowest class. The more complex the vallaslin, the higher in rank they are. If an Elvhen man or woman moves up in class, which is rare, but not unheard of in an ageless population, then he or she will have more detail and complexity added to their markings indicative of the rank they are stepping into. The highest of the noble classes will have vallaslin so complex, you will not be able to tell which Evanuris they serve unless you spend a great deal of time in their company, for they all look too similar.”

“What happens if someone loses rank?”

“I will let you know if it ever comes to pass. As it is, no one would ever risk losing any status above the lowest class. As for those of the lowest class, if they commit a crime, they are sentenced to death.”

“That's…horrible.”

“I agree,” Solas says solemnly, the corners of his mouth turning down in a frown.

“So then what do the Evanuris themselves look like?” She pushes the conversation forward again, steering the topic away from execution. “Is their vallaslin simply a huge black marking upon their faces?”

“The Evanuris do not wear vallaslin. Did you forget you have already met Andruil?”

“I…it was dark,” she says sheepishly, her cheeks turning pink.

“And what of me? Technically I am considered an Evanuris, whether I partake in the same… _activities_ or not.”

“Well, you're _you_ , aren't you?” she snaps defensively as she crosses her arms over her chest. Solas chuckles and continues.

“A bare face is the mark of freedom, where no one can claim ownership of you. These people…I hope to one day free them all, to rescue them from the tyranny they live under. They have never known free will the way you or I have.” He looks around at the scurrying masses with a bone-deep weariness.

“How will you free them? Their vallaslin gives them away. Couldn't they just be snatched right back up the moment they are discovered fleeing their masters?”

“If they do not have vallaslin, then they will belong to no one.”

“But they _do_ have vallaslin. So your point is invalid.”

A smile spreads across his face and he comes to a stop on the street, pulling her around to face him. Secrets dance behind his eyes like candles flickering in the wind.

“I can remove them. I can lift the ink from their skin and leave them as blank as the day they came into this world. I can free them, each and every one of them, until the free outnumber the chained. And without the foundation of the class system, it will collapse beneath its own weight.” He is speaking feverishly, his voice low to avoid the ears of eavesdroppers. “I have already freed hundreds and ferried them to safety, and the Evanuris are none the wiser to my involvement. They are too arrogant to ever suspect someone from within their own ranks. Think of how many more I can free before the final blow lands!”

As he speaks, her eyes begin to narrow and her brow wrinkles in confusion. He leans away and examines her before him.

“What is it? Have I said something to offend you?”

Slowly, she shakes her head, trying to clear her thoughts. “I’m just so… _conflicted_.”

“By…?” he presses, taking a step toward her.

“By _you_. You're just so… _good_. You are nothing like what our legends paint you to be.”

“Do not be so certain. I was not always the way I am now. I do not even know that I will ever come to call myself good, knowing what I was like in the past. Arrogant, conceited, egotistical…ignorant. Take your pick. I may not have taken slaves, but that did not make me any better a person.”

“Does it matter what you were like _then_? What matters is who you are now, and what you're doing to make up for it. That seems to me like a man who looked in the mirror one day and hated the person he saw. And then he _did something about it_. That's more than the Dalish have ever done. They prefer to sit around telling the same tired stories over and over again, but never actually doing anything to change things.”

“I… Thank you. I do not believe anyone has been so kind to me in a long time.” The tender look in his eyes causes her breath to hitch for a moment and she suddenly becomes aware of his close proximity to her.

She opens her mouth to say something else when she notices his eyes focus on something over her shoulder. Before she can turn to see what he's looking at, he leans close to her.

“I am sorry to do this, lethallin, but I must ask you to wait here for a moment. There is someone I need to speak with. It will not take long.” He is gone before she can even respond, down a narrow alleyway behind her.

Suddenly insecure without his reassuring presence, she looks around and hugs her arms to her body. The street they're on now is mostly empty and the curtains are all drawn shut in the windows of the buildings around her. She steps back into the cool shadows cast by the roof of the closest building.

“My, my, what a curious creature,” a velvet voice says in her ear. Her heart jumps to her throat and she whips around in fright. There stands a tall red-haired Elvhen woman in opulent robes of deep violet. Her emerald eyes glisten dangerously, like a lion sizing up its prey. She is struck by the woman's terrible beauty and suddenly realizes that she has no vallaslin.

 _An Evanuris,_ she thinks to herself, her throat constricting.

“How did such a strange thing like you come to possess such powers? I sensed it the moment you stepped into this city. I had thought perhaps one of my fellow brethren had come for a visit, but here I find this unfamiliar varmint wandering the streets.”

She is walking around her at this point, sneering down at her as though she were no more than a feral cat. She stops in front of her and reaches out a long finger to trace a line down the side of her cheek.

“To whom do you belong, servant? These markings are none that I recognize.”

“She is mine,” a voice speaks from the shadows behind the woman. Solas steps out into the sunlight, his steel blue eyes flashing.

“Ah,” the woman says, turning to face Solas. “So it _was_ someone familiar I sensed. Tell me, Fen’Harel, what makes this pathetic mutt so special? I have never known you to take on a pet. What prompted you to change your mind?”

“What I do or do not do is none of your business, Sylaise. We will take our leave now.” Solas strides over to where his companion is cowering and places a firm grip on her wrist to steer her away from the woman.

“I suppose I owe Andruil an apology,” Sylaise drawls, forcing Solas to stop. “She had mentioned you had taken on a stray, but I refused to believe it until I saw it with my own eyes. I must say, I find it rather amusing. Here I thought you found eternal servitude beneath you.”

“Perhaps I wished to ensure nobody else could claim her,” Solas says in an icy voice, his grip on her wrist tightening. Sylaise’s fingers twitch and for a moment, she thinks the Evanuris is going to attack. Solas must have felt the same way, for he suddenly yanks her behind him, keeping his body between her and the Evanuris.

“Do my eyes deceive me?” Sylaise says in a mocking tone. “Does the big bad wolf _pup_ actually have _feelings_ for the little abomination? How very intriguing… Very well, take your leave. But you and I will speak again about this, believe you me.” With that, she spins on her heel and glides away, her robes billowing out behind her.

She lets out a breath of relief as Solas releases her wrist and turns to face her.

“I thought you said they didn't know about your plans?” she asks with narrowed eyes.

“As far as I am concerned, they know nothing,” Solas responds, his shoulders still tense from the encounter.

“Then why the open hostility?”

“They may be too arrogant to sniff out treason from beneath their own noses, but that does not mean they consider me a friend. On the contrary, Mythal is the only one who ever treated me with any respect. The rest were content to use me however they saw fit, even after Mythal raised my status to equal theirs.” A flash of anger passes over his face before he hastily rearranges his expression into something more neutral. “But let us not waste time on such heavy conversations. I wished to show you Arlathan and here we have barely breached the city.”

Solas spends the rest of the afternoon giving her a tour of the city. There are entire buildings made of nothing but crystal, mansions that float above the earth, even structures floating on a great lake at the center of the city, like tiny house islands. Everything is so imbued with magic, she feels drunk on it. She is thankful she didn't bring the orb with her or she might feel tempted to use her magic here. As it is, she is certain that until she learns to control it, it would be disastrous to attempt anything in a place so pregnant with power.

As the sun begins to sink beyond the horizon, the city begins to light up around them. The crystal towers that had acted as prisms in the sunlight, spraying dots of light in every color across the city, now light up like beacons in the waning light, as though colorful fires burn within them. Solas takes this as a cue to begin leading her back toward the outskirts of the city.

As they pass through the servant housing again, she notices that the streets are now completely devoid of activity.

“Where is everyone?” she asks Solas as they walk toward the open city gates.

“Curfew,” he says simply. “Their masters prefer to have complete control over their everyday lives. They are granted no extra freedoms when the sun goes down.”

“Why don't they revolt?”

“Because they have never known another way of life. This is how it has been for millennia. Oppression is as natural to them as freedom is to you. While you could never imagine living this way, neither can they imagine your life.”

“That's sad. And…I don't know. It sort of makes you want to do something about it.”

“Precisely.”

They walk in silence until they reach the Eluvian. By now, darkness has fallen completely over them, with nothing but the stars above to guide their footfalls. Solas activates the mirror and they pass through, into the In-Between.

“Now that you have seen the city, what is your impression of it?” Solas inquires as they make their way to the mirror that will take them back to his home.

“It is beautiful,” she sighs, remembering the magnificent architecture she'd seen. “And the magic is so…concentrated, I suppose it the correct term. I've never felt so alive in my whole life.”

“Yes, there is much energy to be found within denser Elvhen populations,” he agrees, keeping his eyes on the path before them.

“But…” she begins, trailing off as she tries to find the right words. “There is a certain sadness there. The people are enslaved, and it is such a way of life for them that they do not understand what it means to have hope. Hope for a future without tyranny, where they are free to think and act of their own accord. I can understand why you wish to help them. But I also fear that it won't be so simple for you. You can remove their vallaslin, send them to safety, but how do you rewrite what's already written in stone for them? How do you make them understand that there's more to life than just following someone else's orders?”

As they come upon the second Eluvian, Solas stops to look at her, a sad smile on his face.

“And there you have hit the heart of my plight. I know that not everyone will be so receptive to my actions or intentions. They will likely wish to continue living as they do, for there is comfort in having the future already decided for you. There is fear in the unknown, and because of that, I can only help those who wish to be helped. My agents have so far been mostly unsuccessful with the Elvhen living in the cities, where their owners can keep closer watch over them. After I have sealed away their masters, they may not take too kindly to me showing my face to them again. It is a tragedy, but they will persevere, I am certain.”

“At least you are trying,” she offers, her heart full of sympathy.

“But…” he continues, “every alternative is worse. If I do not create this barrier, if I do not seal them away…they will destroy the world. They will search for another creature below the earth, they will go to war with those who guard these creatures, they will slaughter any who stand in their way. They will not sit idly by and allow their power to wane to what it was before they had lyrium. Now that they know what it does, now that they have grown used to its effects, they will not be content to let it simply fade from their veins. And I cannot stand by and watch my people suffer for it any longer.”

She reaches out and takes his hand, squeezing it reassuringly. “I will help you, however I can. I promise. I will do everything I can to learn the things you teach me, so that you can get your foci back.” Solas gazes down at her, his eyes softening as he reads the determination in her face.

“I… Thank you. You…are not what I initially believed. There is something remarkable about your spirit that I cannot ignore. I have been isolated for so long…but it is nice to have company again.”

For a moment, they do nothing but stare at one another, their gazes focused sharply on the other. She notices his eyes travel to her lips for a split second before snapping back up to her eyes and she finds herself leaning in without quite realizing what's happening. Before she can tell herself to stop, she is kissing him, and, to her utter surprise, he is kissing her back.

Her heart feels ready to burst as her pulse rushes in her ears. Solas reaches up and tangles his fingers into the hair at the base of her skull, pulling her deeper into the kiss. His lips move tenderly against hers and she sighs into it, bringing her hand up to rest at the back of his neck.

Suddenly, Solas breaks the connection, stepping back so that her hand falls away from him. His breathing is ragged and heavy, mimicking her own, his eyes wide and disbelieving at what had just transpired.

“I—I should not have… I am sorry. We should be getting back. It is not wise to linger in the In-Between.”

Trying to keep the disappointment from surfacing on her face, she looks to the ground instead and nods. When they reach his home at last, she pads down the hall to his bedroom without a single word.

After she lays there for what feels like an eternity as her mind churns and puzzles over the kiss, she finally drifts off to sleep, unaware of Solas lying awake in the next room, his thoughts consumed with the exact same thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I love to hear your thoughts! 
> 
> The next chapter will begin in the Fade, but it's not the Fade as we know it in modern day Thedas (Lavellan's time). Stay tuned!


	8. Pride in the Fade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read Chapter Seven from Solas' POV [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7983457)!
> 
> Updates will not normally come so quickly, but I've been feeling inspired lately, so you all can benefit from that!
> 
> Thanks to the lovely [lasereraser](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lasereraser/pseuds/lasereraser) for being such a great beta! Go check out her stuff!

When she opens her eyes, she is lying in a soft meadow. The sky above her head is a bright white, no clouds or sun in view. She sits up and takes in her surroundings, noting the subtle lack of substance to everything around her.

 _Nothing seems…solid,_ she decides as she tries to figure out what she should do next.

“Heart beating, pulse racing, you are unsure if you are dreaming or if this is real.”

“Oh!” She jumps to her feet and spins around, relaxing slightly when she catches sight of the spirit boy that had been standing behind her. “Khole. Goodness. You startled me.” Something tugs at the fringes of her memory, and this time she manages to grasp it firmly and yank it to the surface of her mind. She narrows her eyes in suspicion.

“Khole…you made me forget, before. Didn't you?” The spirit boy ducks his head sheepishly, confirming her suspicions.

“It is not my intention for my presence to cause interference in your life. And so I thought it best if you forgot, just temporarily,” he explains in his otherworldly voice.

“Okay well…please don't make me forget again. I prefer to remember my friends.”

Khole looks up at this and carefully arranges his face into an expression of neutrality. “Friends?” he echoes.

“Well…yes. I think that we could be friends, if you wanted.”

“Friends. Yes. I think I would like that.” He gives her a wide, genuine smile.

She smiles back at the boy and looks around once more. “Khole, where are we? And what are you doing here?”

“This is my home,” he answers simply.

“Well. Thanks for clearing that up,” she says sarcastically, and when he fails to interpret her tone, adds, “But where is _home_ exactly?”

Comprehension dawns upon his face and he says, “The Fade, of course.”

“The—” Her mind reels. The Fade? She has been there before, naturally, everyone has in their dreams, though her people prefer to call it _The Beyond—_ where everyone must one day go. As a mage, she would occasionally become aware of the fact that she was dreaming and that she was in the Fade, but on those occasions it had looked nothing like this.

The place she is in now is more reminiscent of the In-Between, though she cannot pretend to understand its properties. The Fade she remembers, on those instances she became aware of herself, had looked decidedly more frightening. Cruel architecture, winding, twisting paths that led nowhere, and at the heart, always in sight no matter how much she traveled, was the Black City, all shrouded in a cloak of dim green light. She knows enough of the Fade to know that it is shaped by the emotions and thoughts of the dreamer, but those characteristics were a constant for every mage she had ever spoken to that remembered the physical features of the realm.

Here in this place, she just cannot bring herself to believe she is actually in the Fade. For one, the landscape is much nicer, almost pleasing to look at. Instead of narrow, claustrophobic roads, her surroundings are open and expansive, stretching off into the distance as far as she can see. Instead of a green hue tinting everything she looks at, the air here is as clear as it is in the real world, though everything has an edge of softness about it, making it surreal to look at. And instead of the Black City looming ever-present in the distance, there is a noticeable pocket of light, as bright as a sun, but she can look at it without pain.

Turning back to Khole, she examines him. She realizes that he is distinctly more substantial in this place. Where he had seemed translucent and ethereal in the waking world, here he seems more like a true living being, although he has the same softness about him that everything else does.

“I don't understand. This is nothing like what I've experienced before,” she murmurs, more to herself but Khole still reacts.

“Questions cloud your mind, swirling, dragging you down. This cannot be real. For if it _is_ real, then surely something terrible has happened to make it all change. Answers; you seek the solutions to these puzzles, and I can take you to one who can help.”

“One who can help? A demon?” she squeaks, suddenly terrified of what might transpire here in this strange realm.

“No demons. Come.” Khole turns abruptly and glides away, leaving her with no choice but to follow.

After a time, the landscape changes and she can see that they are coming upon a body of water. The bright pocket of light stands beyond it, though it seems no closer now than it had earlier. There is a stone bench at the water’s edge, and a hooded figure sits perched on its edge, facing the water so she cannot see their face.

Before she can say anything, Khole vanishes from beside her in a wisp of swirling light. The hooded figure turns towards her, and the apprehension that had been building in her subsides abruptly as she sees that it is none other than Solas, who, other than seeming a little surprised, does not react to her sudden presence.

She slides herself onto the bench beside him, feeling nervous and more than a little awkward as she remembers the last time they were this close to one another. For a while, neither of them speaks and they are content to simply stare off across the lake at the distant glow. Finally, Solas turns to her.

“I had not expected to see you here,” he admits and she glances at him from the corner of her eye.

“I'm still not convinced I know where _here_ is. Khole said we are in the Fade, but it is not the Fade as I remember it.”

“Khole?”

“He is a spirit of Compassion. He asked that I call him Khole.”

“Ah,” Solas says in understanding. “Yes, I may have met him a time or two, though I cannot be certain. However, Compassion is not a common commodity. I think you will find that very little of it exists in the world anymore.”

“Perhaps that is why he is drawn to you,” she responds. “You almost seem to embody Compassion with the way you seek to help others.”

“Perhaps. Or perhaps he is drawn to _you_. After all, he has chosen to show himself to you, to even go so far as to grant you a name by which to call him. I may have spoken with him—or one like him—once or twice, but I have never earned the right to something so personal. It is a rare gift indeed, I assure you.”

“He visited me before, while I was in your home. You had left to bathe. Though he made me forget.”

“And that only solidifies my theory,” Solas says with a small smile. “Even the spirits of this time cannot deny the unique beauty of your soul.”

The air between them seems to thicken with unspoken emotion and she finds herself thinking back to the kiss.

“Solas, about last night—” she blurts, but Solas holds up a hand to stop her.

“Please, da’len, it was my fault. I should not have encouraged it; it was ill-considered and impulsive.”

“I don't agree,” she says resolutely, staring straight into his eyes. “It was as much my fault as it was yours, and to be honest, I rather enjoyed it. I think you did, too, even if you won't admit it to yourself.”

Solas is silent at her words, and for a moment she is afraid she has scared him off. Then he turns to her again, his eyes full of conflict.

“I…cannot deny that I enjoyed it, you are correct. But…it has been a long time and I am not sure if it is wise. I do not wish to disappoint you.”

“I'm willing to take that risk, if you are,” she counters, her eyes boring into his.

“I…perhaps. I will need some time to think about it. There are many considerations, and it would be kinder in the long run if we did not… We hardly know one another, but I cannot deny there is something about you, about your spirit that draws me in and speaks to me in a way I never thought to imagine.”

She feels her cheeks redden and they lapse into silence again, each consumed with their own thoughts.

“Tell me about the Fade in your time,” Solas says abruptly, interrupting her reverie.

“What?” she asks dazedly, slightly startled by his sudden question.

“Earlier, you stated that this was not the Fade as you remember it. What is it like in your time?”

She settles back on the bench as she thinks about the best way to describe the Fade of the future.

“Well, it's…scarier, I suppose. Much darker. Everything is shrouded in shadow and the light is green. You can get lost, but I think no matter where you are, you're always lost. The roads twist and turn and lead to nowhere, demons prowl about waiting to prey on the weary traveler or the souls of the dead, and the Black City is always right there at the center of it all. No matter which direction you look, it is always there at the corner of your eyes. It is…not a place I enjoyed finding myself in, on the occasions I remember being there.”

Solas swiftly stands and strides forward towards the water.

“Solas?” she asks tentatively after several moments of silence pass. When he glances back at her, she adds, “Is this truly the Fade?”

He beckons her to join him at the water’s edge and sweeps his arm out, gesturing toward the pocket of light on the horizon.

“That is Uthenera, the Golden City. Inaccessible in its entirety, but you are already aware of the fact that some have residences there, accessible only from certain locations. And when one of us grows weary of life, we can also choose to create our own little pocket of space there, where we might sleep for centuries, only to emerge back into our bodies some time later. Some may choose to remain there forever, and their worldly body will eventually decay. They will, in truth, be gone from this world, though they will live on in Uthenera.”

“So if you do what you've set out to do, if you succeed in sealing them away, trapping them in Uthenera, won't you also be trapping other sleepers who might wish to return to their bodies some day?”

“It is a sacrifice I must be willing to make, for the greater good,” he answers solemnly.

“But won't the Evanuris’ bodies eventually decay? I thought you didn't want to kill them outright.”

“Yes, their bodies will decay after a millennia or so. But the first of my people do not die so easily. Though their original bodies may be gone, should they be released from their prison in Uthenera, they would be able to transfer themselves into another body. I had hoped that Mythal… But she has not shown herself to me thus far. I remain hopeful that she is out there somewhere, biding her time and waiting for the right moment to reappear. Or perhaps she truly is gone forever. In either case, my goal remains unchanged.”

“I'm sorry, Solas. I'm sorry that you have to face these difficult decisions. You deserve a life better than that.” She reaches out and touches his shoulder, feeling the tension in his muscles beneath her hand.

“I will do everything in my power to save my people from this fate,” he whispers. She squeezes his shoulder in reassurance and he turns toward her again.

“Will you show me your Fade?”

“I…I don't know how to do that,” she mumbles, distracted by the sudden intense look in his eyes.

“Think about what it looks like. Shape it in your mind. And then, will it into your surroundings.”

She hesitantly closes her eyes, pulling up her memories of the Fade as she remembers it. She sees the rocky landscape, the shadows pulling at her peripheral vision, the press of despair upon her very being. When she opens her eyes, she half-expects her visions to be reality, but it is as unchanged as ever, with Solas staring down at her expectantly.

“I—I’m sorry, Solas. I don't think I can do it,” she stammers apologetically. His gaze softens and he brings his hands up to rest on either side of her head.

“Think about it again, and this time let your memories flow into me. Concentrate on the presence of my hands so that I may shape your visions into being.”

This time when she pulls forth the memories, she is acutely aware of the power in his hands and she directs her energy into him. When she hears Solas let out a gasp, her eyes fly open.

They are standing in the Fade, the Fade as she has always known it. Even though she knows it isn't real, she finds herself trembling in fear. Solas wears a horrified expression as he turns in circles to take in his surroundings. A shadow passes behind him and she claps her hands to her mouth.

“Solas!” she gasps, reaching out to grab his arm. “Behind you!”

Solas whips around. There, forming in the air before them, a Pride demon appears, glaring down upon them both. Solas backs his body into hers, shielding her from the demon’s gaze.

“You dare to enter my realm?” the demon demands in a deep, grating voice.

“How can it see us if this isn't real?” she whispers, her voice trembling in terror.

“I may have shaped this Fade from your memories, but why should that mean it is not real?”

“Silence, interlopers! You will not speak unless spoken to!” roars the demon, its hot breath blasting down upon them as if from the belly of a dragon.

Solas is panting now as he raises his hand, unleashing a torrent of greenish-white energy at the demon. But instead of harming the demon, it only serves to enrage it further.

“Fools!” it booms, taking a step towards them and causing the ground below their feet to shake and shift.

As they back away, she gradually becomes aware that the scar on her palm from where Solas’ orb had seared itself to her is beginning to itch. Glancing down at it, she is shocked to see that it almost appears to be split open, and a glowing swirl of amethyst energy swims within the tear, growing, demanding to be released.

Without quite knowing what she's doing, she holds her hand up to the demon just as it swings its arm back to strike. A beam of raw, crackling energy pours from her hand and into the demon. Where the magic strikes the demon, its skin boils and hisses. It throws back its head and shrieks, causing the hair on the back of her neck to stand in alarm. It takes a step forward.

She struggles to maintain the power coming out of her body as the demon bears down on them. Her vision becomes blurry as she feels her body begin to weaken. Abruptly, she becomes aware of a pressure on her free hand and realizes with a sudden clarity that Solas is now pouring his own power into her. With a fortifying determination, she renews her focus on the demon, turning the influx of energy onto it with unyielding force.

The demon stumbles and falls, and its body begins to come apart in chunks as pieces of jagged shadow rip away from it and disappear into the air. Within moments, the demon is completely gone, though her ears still ring from its tortured screams. Solas is looking at her in wonderment, his mouth slightly agape as he struggles to find the right thing to say.

He steps back from her and waves his hand over their heads. In an instant, the horrible Fade vanishes. It is replaced by the Fade of the past, for she knows now that it truly is the Fade.

“How?” he breathes as he searches her eyes. “How could it be that way?”

“I don't know. It's always looked that way, at least that I'm aware of.” Worry furrows her brow. What had happened to change the Fade in such a way?

“Am I responsible for this? Could it be that the barrier I will erect will have unforeseen consequences to such an extreme degree?”

“I don't have the answers, Solas. I'm sorry. I wish I knew.”

She watches the turmoil behind his eyes as he fights to solve this mystery. Finally, defeated, he sighs and reaches out to cup her jaw in his hand.

“You were…magnificent, da’len. You harnessed the power of the orb without having it in your possession and you fought with a brilliance to match your soul. I am so proud of you.”

Her cheeks flush at his words and she tries to look away, but his palm against her face holds her fast. She gazes up, losing herself in the stormy blue pools of his eyes. Her breath catches in her throat as he leans forward and captures her lips against his own.

Humming with content, she allows her eyes to flicker shut and melts into his mouth. Her hands find his shoulders and she threads her arms around the back of his neck, letting the warm weight of his braids rest against her forearms. His arms wrap around her waist and he pulls her further into the embrace, deepening the kiss with fervor.

His tongue slides against her lips, seeking entrance to the heated depths of her mouth. She gladly grants him access and their tongues swirl around each other in a seductive dance. She moans softly into him and his fingers tighten around her in response.

As they come up for air, their foreheads touch and they attempt to catch their ragged breaths. Their eyes mingle for a moment, and she sees nothing but raw emotion in his.

“I wish I could kiss you all day, lethallin,” he whispers against her lips. “I am loathe to admit it, but I am afraid it is time for us to wake up.”

As the final two words leave his mouth, the world turns black around her. When her eyes pop open again, she is no longer in the Fade. She sits up with a gasp, finding herself back in the white bed once more.

Although the kiss did not occur in the real world, she lifts her fingers to her lips, feeling the memory of the pressure his lips made against hers. She lays back against the soft pillows with a sigh as a blush creeps up her neck, and she finds herself wondering if Solas is feeling the same things.

 _If that kiss is any indication,_ she thinks to herself as she snuggles into the warm embrace of the bedding, _then I'd say the answer to my question about taking risks is definitely a yes._


	9. Revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A tad shorter than the last couple chapters, but I didn't want the next chapter to be a monster, so I split it up. Enjoy! 
> 
> Don't forget to check out [lasereraser](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lasereraser) who has been such a wonderful beta!

By the time she works up the nerve to walk down the hall to the common area, Solas isn’t even in the room. As her shoulders release tension she does not realize she is carrying, she walks out into the room and over to the kitchenette to make up a small platter for breakfast. She wanders over to his desk and sits down, examining the maps spread out there as she munches on a piece of dried meat.

A few hundred dots of varying colors are scattered across a map of Thedas, though none of the familiar names of countries or cities exist on this particular delineation. Instead, only the word ‘Elvhenan’ is scrawled across the top with tidy penmanship. She bends low to examine a cluster of dots near what would become modern-day Kirkwall and jumps suddenly when a hand comes down on her shoulder.

“Good morning,” Solas says quietly as she turns to face him. A guilty look comes over her features and she stares up at him.

“I—I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to snoop,” she stammers as a blush creeps up her neck.

“If there was something I did not wish for you to see,” he says in a kind voice, “then I would not leave it out in the open.” He smiles and moves his hand away, walking towards the bedroom for a change of clothes. She finds herself staring stupidly at his unclothed torso once again, and she is thankful that his back is toward her so he can’t see the blush rising on her face.

 _Stop it,_ she thinks to herself furiously. _Just because you’ve kissed once or twice doesn’t mean you can gawk at him like he’s a bloody buffet._

She finishes her meal just as Solas walks back out into the room and busies himself at the hearth, stirring some type of liquid in a large kettle that hangs in front of the fire.

“This should be ready in time for dinner,” he says to her, his back still turned.

“Oh, okay,” she responds nonchalantly. Though... “…what will be ready, exactly?”

Solas turns and smiles at her. “Stew. Rabbit, to be exact. Do you have rabbits in your time?”

“Of course we have rabbits,” she chuckles as she stands and walks over to him. She decides not to regale him with the truth of the insult the word ‘rabbit’ has taken on in her day, hurled towards elves as often as ‘knife-ear.’ Shaking her head a little, she turns her attention back towards the kettle. The scent of the broth has not yet begun to permeate the air, but she knows by this evening it will have her mouth watering. “It’s one of my favorites, actually.”

“Good,” he says and he steps out into the middle of the room. “Shall we continue our lessons in the meantime?” She picks the orb up from its resting place on a shelf and joins him at the center of the room.

“Just tell me what to do,” she encourages.

They spend the next several hours working on her technique. Her biggest problem thus far, Solas explains, is that she tends to reach for her magic the same way she had in her own time. With the Veil in place, magic is harder to reach, and therefore requires more focus and a more aggressive approach. But here, with no Veil to hinder her, when she attacks it the same way, it has the consequence of coming out in excess. Instead of a trickle of water, she gets a roaring river. Instead of a bit of frost, she gets an entire glacier.

By the time the scent of the rabbit becomes too distracting to continue, she realizes sourly that she still has a long way to go. She had been able to control her magic without holding the orb only once or twice out of a few hundred attempts. She knows she won’t be able to rid herself of a lifetime of habits in just a few short hours, no matter how good a teacher Solas is, but it is still frustrating to her to have to remain so patient.

“Do not fret, lethallin. You will get it. The children of this time are not born into the world already knowing the intricacies of their power. Everyone must learn the proper methods.”

“Thank you, _ha’hren_ ,” she teases lightly as he scoops some of the stew into wooden bowls for their dinner. He glances up at her, something behind his eyes she doesn’t recognize.

“Do I seem so much older than you?” he asks quietly as they sit down to eat. She glances up at him, suddenly understanding the look she’d seen in him earlier.

“Solas, I was only joking about the ‘ha’hren’ thing. But…” she trails off, lost in her thoughts. “Well, I’m certain you _must_ be much older than me. However, I’m an adult, and so are you. So I don’t care how much older you are.”

He stares at her for a moment before leaning forward and saying, “How old _are_ you?”

“Twenty-six. Why?”

Solas sits back, a look of relief falling over his face. “You had me worried for a moment, that is all. Yes, I am older, but only perhaps by a few millennia.”

 _A few millennia?_ She blanches and peers at him again, suddenly lightheaded as suspicion begins to climb in her mind. “Solas…when I say twenty-six, what do you think I mean?”

His brow furrows slightly in confusion. “Why, twenty-six hundred of course. Certainly you did not actually mean _twenty-six_ , you would be no more than a child.” He chuckles at this, as though the idea is completely ludicrous.

Her face falls as her suspicions are confirmed. “Solas…” she begins carefully. “Solas, in _my_ time, an elf might be lucky to reach eighty or ninety before dying. We—we aren’t immortal anymore. I came of age eight years ago. I’ve been an _adult_ for eight years.”

Solas gapes at her, looking completely thunderstruck. “Eighty or _ninety_?” he breathes. “You would be _lucky_ to…to reach…”

She gives him a moment to let the information sink in. She can’t imagine it’s easy, learning that your entire race lives and dies in what must feel to him like the blink of an eye.

“When?” he says at last, his voice barely more than a whisper. “When did we lose our immortality?”

“Well, nobody really knows, the records from that time are virtually nonexistent. But…” She screws up her eyes as she struggles to remember her childhood history lessons. “They believe it happened sometime around the Fall of Arlathan. Which was… I’m not really sure. I’m sorry, Solas. As I said, there really aren’t many records, and those that do exist are from the Tevinter Imperium. I doubt the Dalish will ever get their hands on them.”

Solas says nothing for the next several minutes, simply opting to sit there before her in total silence, staring off into the distance. The rut between his brows grows deeper with each passing second. Hoping to pull him from his despair, she reaches out and lightly touches his hand. He flinches so violently that she herself startles and his eyes meet hers with something like amusement playing at the corners of his mouth.

“Would you—” she begins, but doubt clouds her and she falls silent.

“Lethallin, if it will take my mind off of this wretched future of yours, I am all ears,” Solas presses, his intense gaze boring into her.

“ _Could_ you…well, earlier you said you could remove the vallaslin. I…there are things about my time that have displeased you, that much is obvious. But there are things about _your_ time that I find displeasing as well. To know that the vallaslin signified we were nothing more than _chattel_ , nothing more than _fucking_ _animals_ to our so-called _fucking_ _gods_ , to know that our people can’t even _remember_ , and they just strut around brandishing them at the city elves like they make us so much more _fucking superior_!” She is shouting at this point, but a look of deep distress takes over her features, forcing her shoulders to sag and her voice to fall to no more than a whisper. “But they had it right all along. Maybe it’s better to just forget all together than it is to remember a false history.”

Tears spill forth from her eyes before she can stop them and she reaches up to furiously sweep them away. Alarmed by her sudden outburst and swift transition into anguish, Solas reaches out and pulls her into an embrace. The gesture sends her completely over the edge and she begins to sob in earnest against his shoulder.

“How could we have been so stupid?” she says with a muffled wail into Solas.

“If the records are not there, it is hardly anyone’s fault. Except mine, perhaps, for not ensuring some records could withstand time to make it to your era. Now that I know, I will do all that I can to prevent it from occurring. We will go to Vir Dirthara and ensure the survival of our knowledge. And…” He pulls away and tilts her chin up so that she is looking straight into his eyes. “I will remove your vallaslin.” She sniffles and rubs her red, swollen eyes before nodding.

He moves away then, settling on his knees before her and gesturing for her to do the same. Once she is seated, he reaches out and hovers his hands at the sides of her face and begins the spell to remove her markings. Blue light flashes from his hands, bathing her face in its iridescence. Her eyes close against the glow and he slowly moves his hands up and over her head. Finally, his hands come to rest at the back of her head and she opens her eyes to find Solas gazing at her with such an intensity, she feels her cheeks redden.

“Ar lasa mala revas,” he whispers, and tears spring anew in her eyes.

“I am free,” she repeats slowly before leaning in and meeting his lips with such tenderness, he cannot help but to melt into her, pulling her into his arms to deepen the kiss. When they finally break away from one another, Solas reaches up and strokes her cheek.

“You are so beautiful,” he says reverently, his eyes traveling over her unmarked face with reckless abandon. She blushes fiercely under his scrutiny and offers him a shy smile.

“Thank you,” she says. “For everything.”

“It was my pleasure, lethallin.” They sit there for a moment in comfortable silence until she attempts to suppress a large yawn. “You should get to sleep. It is far past your bedtime, young one,” he teases as he tweaks her nose. She nods sleepily and heads off to bed after a gentle squeeze to his hand.

Solas sits there for several minutes as the room grows dark around him, the only light coming from the hearth. He flicks his hand unconcernedly and small orbs of light flare to life around the room. With a sigh, he stands and walks out his front door, following the familiar path to the back structure where he keeps his Eluvian. With a flash of light, he steps through and vanishes from sight.

Back in the bedroom, she is snuggled down in the soft, downy bedding. She snores softly, unaware of the eyes that watch her from the forest outside her window. She turns over in her sleep, oblivious to the figure that has just pulled itself through the opening in the wall. She sighs and mumbles a response in her dream conversation, completely unsuspecting of the shadow that now looms over her. It is not until it clamps its hand down over her mouth and yanks her upright that she becomes cognizant of the danger she now faces.

Unable to scream, she kicks out her feet at her assailant, who responds by squeezing her face even harder. She reaches for her magic in a blind panic and the scent of sizzling flesh and ozone invades her nostrils as her attacker lets out a shout of pain. She reaches again for her energy, but all at once she feels it dampening, as though someone has thrown a heavy woolen blanket over it. Her arms are wrenched behind her and lashed together at the wrist. A thick rag is shoved into her mouth and a dark strip of heavy linen is bound around her eyes, blocking all light from her vision. Finally, the invader lifts her from the bed before shoving her over to the window and jerking her out into the night air.

She is forced to walk blindly through the thick forest for what feels like hours until her legs finally give out from beneath her and she crumples to the ground. As she lies face down in the dirt, she hears the sound of distant footsteps coming closer and closer. They stop near her head and she feels herself being pulled back up into a standing position.

Her blindfold is yanked off and she blinks rapidly as the morning light sears into her retinas. A figure stands before her, and as it comes into focus, she tries to cry out before remembering the rag in her mouth. She opts to step back instead but hands from behind grab her shoulders and force her to stay still.

“Remove the gag and give her water,” Andruil commands in a cool tone to match her expression. The girl before her startles at her words and begins to tremble, but acquiesces to having water poured down her throat. Andruil reaches out and runs a finger over the smooth skin of the girl’s cheek.

“Sylaise said you belonged to Fen’Harel, and yet here I see no markings. Tell me, child, were your vallaslin nothing more than an illusion?”

“I—y-yes,” the girl stutters after a moment, her eyes wide with fear. Andruil grins wickedly before reaching a finger beneath the girl’s chin and tipping her face upward.

“Then I suppose he will not mind if I claim you for myself. Sylaise was right; there is a power within you that should not be possible amongst the lesser People. It is most curious… I wonder why I could not feel it before. Were you hiding it from me?”

A look of panic flickers over her face and she remains silent, her eyes lowered to the ground for fear that Andruil might somehow be able to read the truth in them.

“No matter,” Andruil says softly before pulling her arms behind her back and turning away from the insolent creature before her. “Take her to the palace and have her prepared for marking. She will be mine before the morning is over and then I shall have my answers, as well as a weapon stolen straight from beneath the interfering dog’s nose. He should learn to keep better watch over his pets.”

The world goes dark again as the blindfold is returned to its place over her eyes. Before she can protest further, the rag is shoved roughly back into her mouth. Hands push her from behind and she stumbles forward again, to places unknown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun dunnnnnn! Sorry for the cliffhanger, guys, but the next chapter is going to be fairly large and this was the best stopping point. How do you think Solas is going to react when he finds out? We shall soon find out...
> 
> As always, I love to hear your feedback! I know this was more of a filler chapter, but I'm eager to move on to some action and interim chapters and character development are a necessary annoyance on the road to adventure. Stay tuned!


	10. Nas'falon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **READ THIS WARNING**
> 
> Partway through this chapter, there will be a flashback. It will be two paragraphs all in italics. This flashback contains what I would call **dubious consent** under the duress of duty. There is no force or coercion involved; both are merely doing the duties expected of them. The idea of such a ritual is horrific and barbaric and it is meant to be so for this story. **If this is something that would trigger you, skip the two italicized chapters.** It will not ruin the story to skip them, though the content will be mentioned later in the story to Solas. I will provide warnings at that point as well.
> 
> Now then. I promised a large chapter and I delivered! Over 6000 words for your pleasure! Thanks always to my wonderful beta [lasereraser](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lasereraser/pseuds/lasereraser), who gladly listens to my rantings and points out my tendency to start writing in the wrong tense mid-chapter. She has been a huge help and her time is invaluable! You need to check out "But I Can't Trace Time"! It's amazing!

She is marched forward at a never-ending pace. The hands of the one who had taken her, who had presented her to Andruil, now rest on her shoulders, leading her forward. Sometimes the hands push when her legs threaten to give out and she slows to a crawl. Sometimes they pull back when her legs actually _do_ give out and she stumbles.

They march for an eternity, until the ground beneath her changes and her bare feet slap against cool tile. The hands yank her to a halt and she feels a pulse of energy a short distance ahead of her before being shoved forward again. The familiar sensation of an Eluvian washes over her and she tries to keep herself from falling forward and sprawling out on the ground. Her feet refuse to find purchase and she ends up falling anyway, landing roughly on the gritty road of the In-Between. The hands jerk her upright again and they begin the next eternity of travel.

After she is pushed through a second Eluvian, this time without falling on her face, she feels more cold tiles beneath her toes and theorizes she must be in the palace Andruil mentioned. The hands keep pushing her forward, down echoing halls and through hushed rooms. Finally, she is shoved once more and she lurches forward, falling belly down onto the floor. Her breath whooshes out in a grunting huff and she hears a door click shut behind her. Almost immediately, there are hands on her, pulling her up into a sitting position. These hands are gentle and unhurried, softly brushing against her cheeks as they untie her blindfold.

She blinks against the sudden onslaught of light and sees a slight Elvhen woman kneeling before her, her vallaslin unfamiliar and bold across the ivory skin, its simplicity revealing her as a lower slave. Though if she is one of Andruil’s, then it stands to reason the markings are hers as well, lost to time in the future. The woman’s gaze meets hers with kindness and she feels tears begin to well up in her eyes. She had begun to think she would never know sympathy in this distant past from any except Solas.

“My lady, I have been instructed to bathe and dress you in preparation for your binding ceremony,” the Elvhen whispers. “I am sorry, but I am not to remove your shackles.”

The woman cuts the white sleepshirt from the girl’s body and carries over a wooden bucket that holds steaming hot water from a fire rune set in its bottom. After a thorough scrub, she is dressed in a simple shift with button-up sleeves so that the woman is able to put it on her without having to release her from her bindings. The blindfold is replaced and the woman steps from the room, leaving her to stand there in wait of the next requirement.

After several long minutes, she feels a slight shift in the air and realizes the door has opened again before the rough hands find her shoulders once more and push her forward. Her feet patter against the cold floor as she is marched down corridor after corridor.

 _Creators, how will I ever escape from this maze?_ she wonders to herself as her hope for freedom dwindles and withers with each step of her forced parade. When she is finally tied down to a hard surface, the blindfold is removed and she stares into the face of an entirely unsympathetic Elvhen man bearing a more complex version of the vallaslin she’d seen on the woman who had bathed and dressed her. Almost every square inch of his face is covered in detailed little lines and shapes and she knows then that this man must have a high standing with Andruil. She tentatively reaches for her magic again now that her shackles are gone, but the dampening effect is still in place and she releases her attempt immediately.

“You will not shout out or whimper or make any sounds during the ritual. If you do so, your life will end immediately,” the man booms down at her. She has a sudden flashback to Alexius standing over her as she lay bound on his table, but she pushes the image from her mind and forces herself to concentrate on the here and now. She had not been allowed to make any sounds during her own coming-of-age ceremony with her clan, but the consequences of doing so had not been so dire. It simply meant walking around with a half-finished marking for a month. By the time one was allowed to try again, they were so humiliated they were able to get through it without so much as a peep.

Panic begins to rise within her as she watches the man ready his tools. As he picks up a thin instrument and brings a fire to his fingertips to bathe the end of the tool in, she can feel the fear and revulsion bubbling up inside her like vomit. The man releases the flame and dips the white hot apparatus into a small pot of black ink and she resists the urge to scream even as her vision begins to spark and flash from the energy that courses through her veins. When the man lowers the pen to her skin, she closes her eyes and prepares for the pain, her pulse shouting in her ears.

But the pain never comes. The man shouts out the moment the hot instrument ghosts upon her face, but she never feels it burn her. Her eyes pop open and she twists her head to locate the man. He is standing several feet away by this point, holding his throat as his eyes grow larger and his face redder. Before she knows what is happening, the man drops to the floor and twitches for a moment before falling still.

She allows herself to rake in a desperate gasp of air. As her chest heaves, she pulls at the bindings at her ankles and wrists and nearly cries out in shock as they fall away with the slightest provocation from her. She sits up and takes in her surroundings. She is in a large, windowless box of a room. White tiles gleam from all around her, covering the walls, floor, and ceiling. She spots a lone door at the far side of the room and quickly swings her legs over the side of the table and hops down. She sprints to the door, her heart in her throat and her pulse in her ears.

She reaches for the door, wishing desperately she’d had more time to learn from Solas. If she could control herself better, she might be able to get out of this place without needing to kill anyone else. Something in her knows, however, that it will not be so simple. As she pushes open the door and steps out into a wide corridor, she feels exposed and vulnerable at the lack of anything to hide behind.

Cautiously, she takes a step in a random direction. When no one pops out to capture her, she takes another, then another, until finally she is walking swiftly down the hall. There seem to be no doors to duck through, and so she keeps going, staring straight ahead until she reaches the end of the corridor and turns a corner. Then a shout echoes out behind her and she picks up speed in a panic.

The maze of endless hallways keeps her running for several minutes until finally, she comes upon a door nestling almost indiscernibly against the white tiled walls. She falls through the door and pushes it shut, sinking to floor in front of it to try to catch her breath. She is in a tiny room, a lone bed against the wall the only evidence of habitation.

 _This is stupid, they’ll find you here!_ she thinks to herself as she wills her burning lungs to slow their heaving. She hadn’t seen anyone behind her when she ran into the room, but after only a couple seconds of gasping on the floor, something heavy slams into the door at her back. She jumps to her feet and looks at the door in terror, backing up towards the wall. The backs of her knees hit the bed and she nearly falls over, but she forces herself to remain standing and raises her hands into a defensive position.

The door swings open with a crash and the man from before— _not dead, just passed out_ — looms over her with a menacing anger. She reacts without thinking, her hands thrashing out with magic she hadn’t realized she’d reached for.

A slash of ice flashes in the air before them and then disappears again as quickly as it had come. The man just stares at her and at first she thinks nothing has happened, his expression unwavering from its viciousness. Then he takes a step forward and his face transforms into a look of abject horror as a long line of red appears across the chest of the white robes he wears. Within seconds, the entire upper portion of the garment is dyed red with his blood. His face turns grey and his eyes begin to glaze over as his blood pours from his body quicker than his scrambling hands can heal the wound.

His shoulders slump and his whole body pitches forward. She tumbles backwards onto the bed to avoid his falling mass and he thunks unmoving to the floor. A pool of blood gathers around his still form with a swiftness she did not expect. She reaches out tentatively with her mana, lightly probing his aura for any hidden signs of life or magical trickery. When she finds none, she slides off the end of the bed to avoid stepping in the crimson puddle and slinks from the room, pulling the door shut and leaving the dead man inside.

Acting once more without really understanding what she’s doing, she pushes her magic out into the air surrounding her body and pulls it back in, wrapping herself in shadow and illusion. It is sloppier than Solas could have done, but then again she had never done anything like this before. She is discernible to others by a slight shift in the air; a ripple like a heat wave shimmering before them. Hopefully they will not be looking for her in such a way. Hopefully she can go home before they ever realize anything is amiss.

This time when she walks down the corridor, she is careful to tread softly to avoid aural detection. She meets no one as she turns corner after corner, walks down hallway after never-ending hallway. She turns another corner, certain she’ll never be free of this place, when she finally sees a flash of green ahead of her. An archway leading straight out into the forest is situated at the end of this passage and she can see the gentle movement of wind through the trees.

Reaching for yet another magical ability she has only ever heard of but never used, she finds herself suddenly outside the palace, standing amongst the swaying trees.

 _Did I just Fade-step?_ she asks herself as she gathers her bearings and looks around. She pulls the cloak of her magical invisibility tighter around herself and sets off into the jungle, eager to put as much distance between it and herself as possible.

After several hours, when she is certain she is not being followed or watched, she gradually eases the fabric of the Fade from her shoulders, allowing her body to flicker back into view. She pauses by a large oak and sinks to the ground beside it, letting her head rest on the bark. The gesture is simple but at once she feels a pang of homesickness.

 _No, not homesickness. It is familiarity I miss._ Having been blindfolded, she had no way knowing where the Eluvian lay in the palace. Even if she had managed to stumble upon it, it would require extraordinary luck to further stumble upon the mirror that would take her back to Solas. However, she could not deny that being out here in the forest, free of threat and injury, provided her with a certain sense of comfort that could only come from a lifetime of wandering the wilds with her clan. No, she didn’t particularly care for the ways of her people. Some of their rituals and… _requirements_ could be seen as downright barbaric; alas, she had always done everything her Keeper had asked of her, even when it meant sacrificing her happiness.

 _Almost everything._ She swallows thickly, memories flashing before her vision like a living dream.

_Callused hands on my hips, his magic probes my flesh. I will not disobey. My obeisance in this matter is not up for negotiation. He knows I do not truly want this, not with an old ha’hren such as he; but he has a duty and so do I, and my supple, youthful flesh makes it easier for him to complete the breeding ritual. His breath is hot and heavy at my cheek; the hardness of him presses deep into me and moves within me, unflinching in the fulfillment its duty. Though his hoarse gasping and wanton grunts do nothing to grant him appeal._

_It was honor they expected me to feel, honor from the thick seed now puddling in my womb, to bear a child of magic, and though I feel ready to scream, I will not. I will play the part as I am expected to. Finally empty, he pulls away, the parting of our bodies nothing but relief to me, though I know he will need to fill me again before dawn and many times more over the coming weeks. So when his snores have trembled my eardrums for long enough, I slip from beneath his grasp and hide amongst the trees to imbibe enough witherstalk draught to ensure barrenness for many months. I can only pray my Keeper never discovers my duplicity as I throw my lot in with Fen’Harel himself, betrayer to my own people._

She shakes herself, willing the memories to fade once more. Eventually, her Keeper had decided it was an unfit match, unworthy of Elgar’nan’s and Mythal’s blessings. They had been on their way to another match in another clan, where she would be expected to do it all over again, when she had been captured by the Vints. Part of her almost thought it was divine intervention; perhaps her gods had not abandoned her after all. And initially, after discovering it was Fen’harel’s lair she appeared in, she thought perhaps he had drawn her there through time and space alike, kin amongst the betrayed People.

But now, now she knows the answers. They are real, but they are nothing more than pretenders themselves, wielding power they do not deserve against a People they do not care for. Perhaps it was not divine intervention that brought her to the doorstep of the Dread Wolf, but had she appeared under the feet of any of the others, she would surely be dead or enslaved by now. It is not a feeling that sits well with her, that her gods are all fraudulent and her life a maze of thousands of years of falsehoods and half-truths.

Perhaps it didn’t affect her as it might affect one of her clanmates. They are all by far more entrenched in their beliefs and cultures than she ever was; to come to this time and place, to learn the things she had learned, she feels certain it would have driven most of them mad with denial. She thinks back to each revelation of history Solas had delivered to her. She had been shocked, of course. Anyone would be shocked to learn everything they knew was a lie. But some part of her deep subconscious isn’t really surprised. Some part of her has always known all is not as it seems.

Many years ago, when she was but a child, she sat beneath an oak very much like this one, her head against the child Telhen’s shoulder as she looked up at the leafy canopy above their heads. She had whispered her doubts to him about their gods and he had begged her to remain silent about them, fearful of the treachery slipping like ruined silk from her lips. She had learned as a youth to push her skepticism deep within her mind, and there it stayed locked in its own dragon-guarded fortress, never to see the light of day again.

And then Solas had swept in and slain the dragon, its fresh corpse providing enough of a feast to allow those hypocrisies she’d long ago hidden away to grow fat. With each new proclamation of truth, it grew gluttonous, greedy for the knowledge her ignorant people had long since abandoned. And with the scar on her hand and his power singing in her veins, she had a taste, a full banquet for which to feed the ravenous creature in her head.

She can never go back to the way she’d lived. Never again can she sleep beneath the stars, steeling herself against harsh winters and near-constant hunger, knowing that in this time, she would have never had to do such things. She can never again look Deshanna in the eyes, a product of generations of failed breeding. Deshanna is not directly responsible for the loss of knowledge, but she and all of them alike are content with the deceits and defeats passed down from Keeper to Keeper since the Fall.

As her thoughts consume her, she feels herself falling into the sluggish throes of despair, her eyelids dipping low as the Fade pulls her into its abyss. When next she opens her eyes, she is no longer beneath the wizened oak, but instead at the edge of a great swell of water.

“He searches for you, afraid, is she gone? Did she leave me? Am I doomed to wander alone for eternity?”

She turns to face Khole, unfazed by his sudden appearance beside her.

“Hello, friend. It feels an eternity since last we spoke,” she offers with a small smile. He looks at her then, his head tilting with curiosity.

“He misses you. He feels tortured, ashamed that your presence keeps him grounded after knowing you so little a time.”

“There is nothing to be ashamed of. His soul has acted as a magnet, drawing me through the ages to his side. It can’t be a coincidence that my body and mind chose this exact place in time to appear.”

“I said as much, but he does not believe me,” Khole says sadly, his gaze returning to the horizon.

“You have seen him then?” she asks as she entwines her fingers in his. He squeezes lightly and his chin dips in a nod.

“Yes. He summoned me when he realized you were gone. His panic was such that I could not deny him my presence. It was a hurt I could heal.”

“How did you heal it?”

“By finding you. I pulled you in, told him to find us here.”

“You pulled me in? To the Fade?”

“Yes. It was not so difficult when your mind was already in a state of chaos. Any extreme emotion would have allowed me to bring you in easily. Anything less would have required more effort.”

Her eyes become unfocused as she pulls the weight of his words across her energy, testing their merit. They ring true against her mana, though she never knew a spirit had such power.

“It is not a power we are given freely,” Khole says, hearing her before she even speaks. “We must be given that honor by someone in the waking world. Perhaps that is for the better.”

She nods in agreement, thinking of the demons of her time. Had they the power to rip a person from the waking world and into their own, they would have long ago grown fat with the souls of Thedas before succumbing to extinction when there was nothing left to feast upon.

“Solas gave you this power?”

Khole glances back to her, his thumb drawing lazy circles against her palm.

“He could not wait for you to sleep and he could not pull you in on his own, so I offered myself. I have already given it back. Frightened, alone, sick with worry. It was a hurt I could heal,” he repeats. His eyes fix on something behind her, and as she turns to see what it is, he vanishes from her side.

Solas stands behind her, his chest heaving as unspoken emotion ravages him behind his eyes. She stands slowly and steps over to him, her hands behind her back as she inspects him. His shoulders release their tension and his breath rushes out in a long sigh. He lifts his hand to caress her cheek but stops suddenly, unsure of himself in a way he has never been before. He lets it fall away without touching her and his eyes bore into hers, seeking answers to unasked questions.

“I do not wish to hold you against your will, lethallin,” he whispers, his voice laden with raw feeling. Pain flashes across her visage and she reaches for his hand.

“It was not by choice that I left your side, Solas. I was taken; stolen away in the night by a thief sent by Andruil.”

One by one the swirling emotions clear from his features until only one remains: anger. His lips snarl and his eyes narrow in his rage. He pulls his hand from her grasp and grips her shoulders tightly, almost painfully.

“What did she do to you? What did she want?” he spits, his anger loud but she understands it is not directed towards her.

“To claim me. To use me against you,” she says softly as tears brim in her eyes. His face goes pale at these words, the anger leaving it as suddenly as it had come, only to be replaced by fear.

“She…she tried to brand you?” His fingers loosen their hold on her shoulders and move towards the ground, stilling on her upper arms as he peers down at her.

“Well, she commanded someone to do it, one of her higher acolytes, I think. He…his vallaslin was complex.”

“What—how did you escape?”

“I…I don’t know. I used magic I didn’t know I had. He—the man who was to mark me, he fell to the floor just before he touched the tool to my face. It was as though someone were choking him. I felt energy bubbling up inside me, but they had enchanted bindings on me. I don’t know how I could have done it.”

His face relaxes, but only minutely as his hands grip ever so slightly tighter on her arms. “Sometimes in times of great duress, we can produce magic beyond anything we have ever known. Did he die? And you just walked out?”

She shakes her head. “No. I…ran away, I hid in a room, a bedroom I think, but it was small. He followed me in and I—I…” She trails off, a flash of red darting through her memory. “I did something to him, with ice. And he…died.”

“You are certain?”

“There was…a lot of blood. And I checked him with my magic. He was gone.” Her voice breaks on the last word and the tears that had earlier threatened to spill now did so with earnest.

“You have never killed before, have you?” Solas asks, his voice softening as he draws her into an embrace. She shakes her head and buries her face against the warmth of his chest. He strokes the back of her head while she sobs, and when the well of tears finally seems empty, she pulls away, gazing up into his somber eyes.

“I made myself invisible, almost. There was still a shimmer, but you could only see it if you were looking. I don’t know how I knew to do it. The knowledge just came to me. And I walked for a long time, trying to find a way out. Then I finally saw an opening into the forest, but it was at the end of a long hallway. I wanted to be out so badly, I just stepped forward and…I was there. I think I Fade-stepped, Solas. I have never done such a thing.”

“It is a remarkable accomplishment. Most Elvhen cannot do it. I would theorize that the power of the orb is aiding you, even so far away. You are learning, da’len. Controlling your magic should start to get easier for you.”

“Except I still have no idea where I am or how to get home. Or how you even found me!”

Solas shakes his head, his eyes faraway as memories rise to the surface. “I did not find you. I remembered your friend, the spirit of Compassion. Khole, you called him. I asked him to come. At first he would not respond, but when I begged, he was there immediately. I gave him a spell, one that would imbue him with enough magic to pull your mind into the Fade when he encountered you. It is something I as a living being could never do, but he as a spirit could, with a little help. He told me to wait in the Fade, that I would know when you had been found.”

“How did you know?”

“You are very…bright. Your energy is like a beacon on the horizon. I followed it and here you were.”

“I’m sorry, Solas,” she whispers, settling her forehead against his chest again.

“This is not your fault, lethallin. It is mine. I should not have left you so unprotected. Had I been there, they would not have dared approach.”

She leans back again, confusion clouding her eyes. “What do you mean, left me? You weren’t there?”

He sighs sadly. “No. A problem came up that needed my attention. I left to check in with my agent. When I arrived, there was nothing amiss. In hindsight, I see now that it was all a trap. I…” His voice falls off and he steps away from her, letting his hands come away to rest at his sides. “It would be unwise to continue this…whatever it is we are doing. They will use you to get to me, and I—to lose you would be…”

She reaches for him, touches his arm. His eyes flash to her bare face, filled with sorrow. “Solas, I—” He steps back again.

“It would be unwise, kinder in the long run if we did not engage in such frivolities.”

“No. You don’t mean that.”

“I…no. You are right. But…” He lets out a frustrated sigh and spins on his heel as he begins to pace. “I have only known you a short time, and yet something pulls me to you, surer and stronger than anything I have ever felt in my thousands of years. It frightens me, the intensity with which my very soul calls to you. If the others sense it, if they know what you mean to me, what would they do?”

“Solas…”

“They would torture you. They would kidnap and rape you to hurt me. They would tear you limb from limb and scatter you at my doorstep!” He marches back and forth before her, his angry words punctuating the air between them. She steps forward again.

“Solas—”

“They would see you dead to destroy me. It has not gone unnoticed that I refuse to participate in this civil war of theirs. They would force my hand before I am ready to move! They would—”

“Solas!” she all but shouts as she grabs his arm and grinds him to a halt. Finally, his eyes focus on her again. “Solas, do you think me incapable? Have I not proven I can fend for myself, escape from under their noses? If you continue to teach me to wield this power, what will stop me?”

His eyes soften, tinged with sadness. “Oh ma vhenan… It is so much more than that. These are the same people who murdered Mythal. Wife, mother, companion to us all. Do you truly believe they would not do the same or worse to someone who wields their power without their permission?”

She blinks at him, stunned by his words. She barely heard anything past ‘ma vhenan’ and it distracts her. “Vhenan?” she whispers. He blinks at her as his hand reaches out to touch her face.

“You must know by now that you have stolen my very heart away,” he murmurs, moving his fingers to tangle into her hair. “It goes against everything I have told myself. That isolation is for the best to protect those I have come to care for.” He pulls her close to his chest, whispering into her hair. “But I am powerless to resist, to stop the pull of my heart. I have tried to, I am… _scared_ , vhenan.” That word again, it sends shivers up her spine. “I do not have the answers anymore.”

She looks up him, loses herself in the deep pools of truth and love that have become his eyes. She threads her fingers into his thick braids, longer even than her own hair, and pulls him down to meet her lips. The fire that ignites between them is more powerful and more intense than any of the previous intimacies they have shared. She nearly cries with the emotions that wash over her, and when they finally break away, she feels as though the very air has been stolen from her lungs.

“Ar lath ma,” he whispers, his forehead resting against hers as his fingers continue to twist through her ebony strands. A tingle like lightning trembles through her body. Everything in her upbringing shouts to end this madness; he is right, they have only known each other a very short while, days able to be measured by only the fingers on their hands. And yet her heart sings in harmony with his, resonating in her very soul. Her _soul_ …

 _Nas’falon,_ she thinks to herself with sudden clarity. The Dalish believe there is only one out there for each person, and while she is certainly keen to shuck aside the majority of the traditions and stories she’d grown up with in favor of the history she is now living in, this one ideal sticks to her like moss on a tree.

“What do the Elvhen of this time believe?” she asks Solas quietly and he slants his head questioningly.

“In regards to what?”

“Nas’falon. Do you believe it?”

He considers her question for a moment before responding. “It is true that many Elvhen will partake in multiple partners through their long lives, as friends, romantic interests, lovers. But yes, the idea of soulmates is certainly something that shows to be true to us. Mythal and Elgar’nan are one such pair that lends truth to the notion. To see them together, you would understand what I mean. Andruil and Ghilan’nain, Sylaise and June. Proof litters our history.”

“What about Falon’din and Dirthamen?”

Solas chuckles. “While certainly their souls are inseparable, they would more be considered nas’taron rather than nas’falon. While nas’falon is not necessarily demanding of romance and intimacy, in this case, they have identical spirits.”

“I never knew that,” she says, smiling up at him. “Do you think that we…”

“Are nas’falon?” She nods as her cheeks flush red, but he grins and takes her hand. “Yes. I think I do.”

“And…” she begins uncertainly, but she is comforted by the gentle squeeze of his hand. “Did you partake in multiple partners through the years?”

He pulls back, his hand stilling in hers. He had not expected this question. “I have been with…a few,” he admits. “None that lasted longer than a century, none that held me as closely as you do.”

Her eyebrow smirks up. “A _century_?” It is his turn to flush and he shuffles slightly before her.

“Yes, well, you must understand that to us, a century is hardly the blink of an eye.”

She cannot stop the sudden hurt that flashes across her face or the feeling of her heart being catapulted against a stone wall. “Then why indulge in this? Even if we are…nas’falon…why bother when my life will be over in a minute?” His face falls as he realizes his mistake.

“Vhenan,” he implores, bringing both her hands up against his chest where he holds them there. “I have lived thousands of years without ever knowing the touch of nas’falon. I have envied the others at a distance, certain that I would never be allowed the same honor. I have known you but a few days and yet all of it has been worth it. All the loneliness, the jealousy and failed relationships, the centuries of isolation. For you, I would do it again. I would live an eternity of it in exchange for but a second of your presence.”

Her heart swells as the emotions threatens to rip from her body. The air between them is palpable with the truth of his words.

“Ar lath ma, Fen’Harel,” she whispers against his chest, some distant part of her reveling in the blasphemy her people would surely shun her for.

After a few moments, Solas pulls away. “I can feel the pull of wakefulness on the horizon. Before it happens, I must tell you how to come to me.” Her brows furrow but she says nothing. “Do you remember how you Fade-stepped?” When she nods, he continues. “You will need to do the same thing. But this time, you must imagine my face. Imagine me standing in the distance, allow the desire to be at my side to grow within you until you can think of nothing else but the need to be beside me. And then, when it seems there is nothing left in your mind but this urge, you must step forward and embrace the Fade. Can you do that for me, vhenan?”

She hesitates for a moment but finally nods. “I will try.”

Solas inclines his head at a point over her shoulder and begins to fade from her view. Hands touch down on her shoulders and an ethereal voice whispers in her ear.

“I will send you back now.”

Khole gives her shoulders a tight squeeze and she feels something behind her navel lurch forward. She lands on her back and when she sits up, she is surrounded once more by the thick green of the forest, the oaks thick canopy whispering above her head with the wind. She scrambles to her feet, her heart pounding in her throat.

She pulls his face to her mind, though she needn’t try very hard; he consumes her thoughts already. Her heart fills with the raw emotion of him, the scent of him surrounding her, the touch of his hands on her body enveloping her soul. Finally, she steps forward, allowing the Fade to wrap around her body like a thick woolen blanket.

She gasps when his fingers close around her wrists and suddenly she is there beside him. He stands in the middle of the familiar common room, his eyes raking over her face and he pulls her closer, as though he is afraid she will be ripped away again at any second. An audible sigh escapes from his chest.

“I did it,” she murmurs against the soft robe he wears. His chest rumbles with a chuckle.

“You certainly did, vhenan, you certainly did.” There's that word again. She will never tire of hearing it, she knows. “And now,” he says, pulling himself back enough to look her in the eyes, “we must prepare for the backlash. Andruil will not be pleased that you have managed to evade her and she may attempt to track you down. I have no intention of letting that happen, and so we must head her off as quickly as we can. I have some ideas.”

He releases his hold on her and turns away, pacing much the same way he had in the Fade. He turns back to face her after a moment, his eyes sharp and dangerous.

“Tell me,” she breathes and his lips curl into a wicked grin. She returns the expression with a smirk of her own and steps toward him, her energy brimming and mingling freely with his.

The bitch would be sorry for taking her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Nas'falon_ \- Soul mate  
>  _Nas'taron_ \- Twin soul  
> 
> 
> I am using a combination of [several](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3719848) [dictionaries](http://archiveofourown.org/works/359253) and [lexicons](http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Elven_language) to create my rendition of the Elvhen language.
> 
> Thanks to everyone keeping up with this! I have so much in store I can't wait to share it all. It's definitely something you want to keep in your subscriptions! And as always, I love to hear your thoughts and comments! ;)


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